Torchwick's Tale
by bigfatcarp93 mk2
Summary: The origin of Roman Torchwick, from his youth all the way to his rise up the ranks of Vale's underworld.
1. V1 - Icarus, Chapter 1

Volume 1 – Icarus

Chapter 1 – Fox, Wolf, Bear, Lion

"Wa-Hoo!"

The four masked figures shrieked and whooped as they ran down the sidewalk, jumping to hit store signs they passed under. Passerby hopped and stumbled aside to make way for the armed boys; whether they understood what was happening or not, they knew better then to get in the way of a riled-up group like that. And so, unhindered, and not caring that they were in broad daylight, the quartet kept running to what, if they had their way, would soon be a crime scene.

"This is the life!" yelled the wolf-masked boy, clutching his makeshift billy club with heart. "Eh? Ain't this grand! Ha!"

Just ahead of him, the largest boy, clad in bear mask, yelled back over his shoulder, "Not yet it's not, boy!" The wolf responded by reaching forth with his club to give the big bear a soft rap on the back of the head. The bigger boy smiled beneath his mask; the little one would pay for that later.

"Please, lads!" yelled the lion from the front in a gleeful tone. "We can decide who's right and who's wrong when we're rich men and not poor bastard boys without two Vacuo coppers to rub together! You keeping up back there, pup!?"

At the back of the group, the smallest boy, clad in fox-mask, huffed as he struggled to keep up, holding his wooden club in two sweaty hands. "Fine!" he yelled as best he could, determined not to fall behind.

"Don't be losing spirit, pup!" the lion called back. "You'll make your dear old family cry! 'Course, if you think you're going to piss yourself again, we could always stop and wait for another score to pop up!" The three boys in lead whooped with laughter, while the fox simply tried to keep up, his face burning at mention of an unfortunate incident from many years ago.

As the four sprinted on, another young boy, wearing and apron and sweeping, watched from the opposite corner, shaking his head.

"Look at them go, wearing those masks as if we don't know who they is..."

"Hush now!" snapped his mother, smacking him with a newspaper. "If you know who those boys are, then you should know better than to stir matters. You don't want them coming for you?"

"No, momma." said the young man, returning to his work.

The lion-masked boy skidded to a stop just before the opening to an alley, straightening his ratty, burnt-orange blazer with one hand while keeping a firm grip on his weapon with the other. "This'll be the one," he said in a lower, quieter voice as his brothers slid to a stop behind him. "Remember, hit them fast before they can draw! You gonna be okay there, pup?"

They all turned to the fox, who had only just caught up. "I'll be fine! Let's just make the score already!"

"Aw, so tough!" chided the wolf, before turning to the lion. "Better look out, or this one's gonna take what's yours!"

"That's enough," the lion said back, "come on lads! Let's go be kings!"

In the alley, shaded with awnings stretching from the two-story buildings on either side, men in dark glasses and jackets gathered around a wagon, loaded with slatted wooden crates. As one of the crooks went to inspect the inside of one crate, opening the lid to look within, they were taken by surprise by the masked boys rounding the corner and charging into the alley, clubs in hand. The dealers turned and yelled, making to draw their weapons, but the masks overwhelmed them before they could, and in an instant, the alley became a confused flurry of activity as wood connected with aura and fighters shouted at each other in pain or enthusiasm.

The lion came in first and with a strong swing, and was laying a beating on the lead thug before he knew what was happening. The biggest of the thugs was ready, and managed to disarm the bear, but paid for it with a solid right hook to the jaw, while the wolf was in the alley quick, and struck quick too, landing a flurry of impacts on the third crook. Fists and sticks flew, blood, teeth and spit were scattered, and auras flashed and fell as the melee happened. The fox-masked boy was the last to reach the fight, and barely managed to get in a single, feeble swing on the biggest thug before it was over, the dealers all collapsing to cradle bruised bones and egos.

The bear looked to his younger brother. "Sorry, pup." he growled. "Gotta be quicker next time."

"There will be all the time in the world later, big guy." said the lion, socking the bear on the arm. "Come on, help me with these crates while our little brothers look ahead."

"That's our cue." said the wolf, nodding to the fox. The two jogged straight back out of the alley, the fox still cursing himself internally missing the action. They looked around the street; normal comings-and-goings, shoppers and tourists, but no cops.

"Clear out there?" yelled the lion from the alley.

"Clear enough!" the wolf called back.

The entire wagon rolled out onto the street, being pulled by bear and lion alike. "Didn't want to leave any behind." the lion explained. "And we couldn't carry it all. Let's roll!"

The boys got moving, lion and bear moving the cargo while wolf and fox jogged alongside, brandishing their clubs and anyone who looked too long at the cart. On they went, through the colorful and decorated streets of Little Mistral, no one daring to get too close to the Torchwick boys and their prize.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

The Torchwick brothers were known to hang their hats in a series of shanties deep within a large, overgrown vacant lot, what had once been a pumpkin patch before a fire had claimed the owner; now the old patch was just left to grow wild and free, a philosophy that appealed well to the four young men who called it home.

With a perimeter of high, dense brambles surrounding the cleared out, grassy area around the home, only the Torchwicks could get in; years ago, they had spent weeks carefully navigating the thickets until they had figured out a series of barely-noticeable trails that cut through, and they had taken pains to keep those paths clear, yet concealed, since. On the front of the hovel was a black, wooden sign with a leering Jack 'O Lantern on it, so that if anyone did make it through, they would know exactly whose territory they were standing on, and they would know to turn back. Now, as the hot afternoon sun beat upon the metal shack, came the rumbling sound of the cart on the rough terrain as the brothers worked it through the overgrowth.

The lion and bear emerged first, panting from the exertion of lugging the heavy cart in the heat, their breath catching behind their masks. The fox and wolf quickly followed. As the older brothers set the cart down, lion removed his mask while bear leaned forward to pick up his second wind. Turning and smiling at their haul, Coleman Torchwick shook his orange hair out of his face, grinning wide with uneven teeth that did surprisingly little to detract from his general handsomeness. The eldest brother caught his kin's attention by swiftly jumping on top of the crates, flamboyantly throwing his arms wide with his lion mask still clutched in one hand.

"Look at this, fellas! Look what we managed! Ha!"

The biggest of the lot turned around and removed his own bear mask to scowl. "Come on, Cole," Matches Torchwick growled in his deep voice, "at least let us get some water before we celebrate." Matches towered over his brothers, tall and well-built. Though as orange-haired as Coleman, his dark grey eyes contrasted with his emerald-eyed elder. Cole grinned down at him from atop the cart. "Come now, water's no drink to celebrate a win like this! We need something stronger!"

The wolf-masked brother, Snapper, unmasked. "Maybe... we could open that scotch you stole from the Browns?" he asked hopefully, through several missing teeth. Green eyes and jet-black hair went well with his boyish looks. Coleman stroked his chin thoughtfully, with a smile. "Maybe, maybe... but first thing's first, let's get our haul inside, right quick!" Matches groaned in annoyance as Coleman hopped back down, the two of them grabbing the cart again to haul it away.

As Cole and Matches lugged the wagon away, and Snapper ran excitedly inside, the last brother hesitated, turning around and looking up at the clear blue sky over Vale. Pulling off his fox-like mask, the youngest Torchwick brother, fifteen-year old Roman, took a breath, letting the summer breeze ruffle his orange hair. He was the spitting image of a younger Coleman, with the same acid-green eyes, and faint freckles that looked ready to fade. Roman turned to run inside and join his family.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Things inside were already in pandemonium.

The Torchwick Homestead consisted of six interconnected shacks, and they were all crappy. The walls and ceilings nothing but rusted sheet metal and old wood planks, the floors nothing but dirt. By day, the place was lit by sunlight that made it through the plentiful cracks in the roof, and by night by the dozens of candles scattered around. The Torchwick brothers were very accomplished candle thieves.

Currently, that dirt floor was being raised into a dust cloud by a spontaneous and very involved wrestling match between Matches and Snapper, who slid around and grappled as Coleman laughed, watching from his place sitting on the cart.

"How'd this end up screwy?" Roman asked as his middle brothers tangled.

"Don't know, don't care!" Coleman proclaimed. "But never fear, little one, I'd put a stop to it before anyone lost an eye."

"Aw, come on, Cole," said Matches, who now had Snapper in a firm headlock, "if I don't take his eye, how's he going to learn respect?"

Snapper struggled in vain against his massive brother. "Come on, Matches, let me go!"

"Aw, let the little punk go, Matches." Said Coleman appeasingly. "We have work to do, after all, and a score to look over!"

This got their attention, and Cole smiled as he saw his kin perk up in excitement. Matches released Snapper, and four of the younger brothers gathered near the cart. Coleman hopped down, grinned at his family, and then popped open one of the crates with a showmanlike flourish.

Inside the crate were over a hundred fresh, pristine green apples.

"Wow..." Roman marveled, his mouth watering at the sight. Snapper was equally impressed.

"That's... Gods... Cole, are they all filled up like that?" Coleman nodded and grinned devilishly, and Snapper kept talking. "I figure that's more food than I've seen in my sorry life..."

"Wow..." Roman repeated dumbly.

"On your life." Coleman replied. "Food good to feed Little Mistral for weeks. And those mongrel-humpers were shipping it away... tsk, tsk..."

Matches looked at Coleman, adopting a serious tone. "What are we going to do with it?"

"Well, eat some of it, that's obvious. But we need to turn a profit. I figure we, ah... hold a little _bake sale,_ maybe spread the love a bit. Lend a tasty helping hand to the poor downtrodden of Little Mistral."

Matches grinned. "For a fee, of course."

"For a fee." Coleman confirmed. "And it'll have to be shiny with the men up top; we stick to all of Poppa Gold's rules, no undercutting. You know, it'll be easier to sell some of these as pies, can you...?"

Matches nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Tomorrow. Tonight..." he reached out with both hands, ruffling Snapper's black hair and Roman's red. "Tonight we eat like royals."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

The satisfying crunch of biting into a fresh apple is, of course, one of life's greatest sounds. And that evening, the Torchwick brothers explored many, many variations of that sound.

Their shack, lit yellow from without during the day, was now lit orange from within under the inky sky. The place was a hell of a fire trap to be sure, but if the brothers weren't scared of their criminal rivals within Little Mistral, they sure as hell weren't scared of a few loose cinders.

Coleman had relinquished to Snapper's request, and opened his hard-stolen scotch for him and his brothers to enjoy with their feast. He and Matches took much humor from watching their younger brothers try to hold their liquor. A couple glasses in and Snapper was already stumbling around and trying to make a poorly-thought-out speech about the brothers' good fortune, and making a true idiot of himself in the process.

Roman was a bit more subdued, holding his still-full second glass with a weak grip as he sank into a rotten couch that Matches had dragged out of a dump. He gazed into the flickering fire of a candle, the smells of dust and sweat and scotch overwhelming him as his thoughts drifted off to the lovely Colza... perhaps, after the other Torchwicks retired, he would go and see her. But he'd need to keep himself alert. Looking down at the drink, Roman hiccupped and then placed in on the arm of the couch, not intending to return to it tonight.

Snapper staggered onto the table in the middle of the room, bumping his shin but still managing to stand up proud. "With this... ah, weeeeeee... we are... HIC!"

The other three laughed, and Coleman leapt up to join his brother on the makeshift stage, throwing an arm around the teen's shoulders. "I think what Snapper is trying to say is..." he raised his drink high. "To the Torchwicks! Bastard boys of a bastard mother! Princes of Little Mistral! Deciders of our own names, and our own fate!" Matches and Roman cheered, and Snapper fell off the table, to more laughter.

The roaring was cut off by a high, sharp whistle from outside. The four brothers fell into silence. Cole, Matches and Roman all craned around to look in the direction of the whistle, from the front of the house. Snapper picked himself up out of the dirt, brushing himself off with a confused look. "Matches," said Coleman, "get the bitch-beaters. We may have trouble."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Outside, standing right at the edge of the shadows beyond the light from the shack, stood three young women.

The three sisters were dressed almost identically, in black outfits lined with yellow fur, and sheathes for their daggers. Their dark apparel contrasted the matching bright orange blazers worn by the Torchwick brothers. They each had medium, brownish skin tones.

The eldest sister, Robas, stood at the front of the group with her hands on her hips and a sly smile on her face, her spotted leopard's tail swishing behind her expectantly as she watched the shack and waited for the brothers. Her long black hair was pulled in a ponytail.

The other two sisters, younger, were twins. Raksha, who had the shortest hair, sported a pair of grey wolf's ears that twitched in the cool night air. The ashen color of her hair matched them nicely. Her twin, Sek, was the tallest of the sisters, despite Robas being older. Her hair, also black, was big and frizzy. Her faunus trait was not apparent, but her eyes had a predatory quality. Both Raksha and Sek looked eager for the coming clash.

Growing impatient, Robas yelled at the shack. "Come on out, you fatherless bottom-feeders! Come on out to take your beatings like the filthy little hobos you are!"

Coleman appeared from the doorway, standing at the threshold with a mischievous grin and a club held at his side. "Well, well, well! The Noir sisters, this is a surprise! I was getting worried tonight would be a bit dull... come out and see this, brothers, it looks like the local livestock is getting restless!"

Each window of the shack was suddenly filled with a Torchwick; Roman, Snapper and Matches each hopped onto a windowsill from inside and crouched there, brandishing their clubs and glaring at the Noir sisters. The light from within the shack cast four black, Torchwick-shaped shadows on the orange glow of the yard.

"Now then!" Coleman jeered, stepping out into the night with his arms wide in a mock expression of hospitality. "What exactly can the Torchwick brothers do for you this fine, fine evening?"

"'Torchwick?' Ha!" Robas replied, walking forward to meet the eldest brother in the middle. "Now there's your best joke yet, Coleman! Pretending the four of you, you four bastards, have surnames!"

Coleman stopped walking, still smiling as the faunus stepped past him and began circling him. She kept speaking. "You boys don't have surnames! You're no family! Your scarlet woman of a mother had each of you to a different slimy vagabond, and then went ahead and died pathetic and unsuccessful. To have a surname, Cole, you'd have to have something, _anything_ to your name..."

She stopped in front of him, putting her arms around his neck. "But you don't. All I see is a rundown shack in an abandoned pumpkin patch, inhabited by mediocre thieving bastards who lie to themselves and think that they have a place in Little Mistral."

Coleman kept smiling the entire time. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Robas." He reached up and pulled her arms away, turned to take a few steps back towards the shack, and then wheeled around and opened his own arms theatrically.

"We're the Torchwick boys! Bastard boys of a bastard mother, we choose our own names! We're family as long as our momma's blood runs in our veins, and we named ourselves Torchwick because that's what we are! Brothers! And believe me, it's _certainly_ not a dirty mongrel like you who's gonna be taking that away from us."

Robas just grinned. "Maybe not, but we are here to take something from you... we heard you fellas came into something pretty shiny recently." She drew her dagger to fiddle with it idly. Coleman kept smiling, his eyes darting back and forth between the weapon and the girl's own eyes. "And how would you have found out about that?" He asked amicably.

"And how'd you find us, anyway!?" Roman suddenly interjected, causing everyone to look his way. "We're the only ones who know how to get through that thicket!"

Robas leered at him. "Aw, look at this little one, expecting something for nothing. You want some of my secrets, kiddo, why don't you give me some of yours?"

"Let me handle this, little pup." Coleman called. Roman scowled at the dirt; he thought it was an important question.

The eldest Torchwick brother turned back to the eldest Noir sister. "Now then, Ro, why don't you go ahead and get to the point? Why are you here?"

Robas put her finger through a ring at the bottom of the dagger's handle and began twirling the weapon. "Give us the food, vagabond. It'll only go to waste on slime like you, and we have bigger plans for it."

"And I'm guessing you mean to dice us up if we don't, is that it furball?"

"Them's the breaks." she replied with a jovial shrug. "So what's it going to be, whoreson?"

"Hmm..." Cole said with mock thoughtfulness, stepping forward to take her chin in one hand. The two smiled at each other. "I think... that you can run home to your litterbox, little kitty."

They both made their first move at the same time, with her lashing out with her dagger in a swipe at his throat, and him jumping backwards while bringing his club up to block. The two weapons barely met, as the Noir sisters spun around and bolted back into the thicket. The Torchwick brothers hopped down from their perches and ran to Coleman's side. "What do we do!?" Snapper asked.

"Go after them, of course!" Cole said.

"It's definitely a trap." Matches pointed out.

"Aye, it's a trap." Cole said, nodding. "But we know these brambles better than they do, so the advantage is ours!"

Coleman led the charge, running after the Noir sisters as his brothers followed suit. "Come on, lads! Those filthy freaks aren't taking what's ours!"

Whooping and banging their sticks, the boys dove into the pitch blackness of the thicket, ducking low into one of their secret pathways and moving through in single file, searching for their rivals.

"I can't see a thing in here!" called Roman.

"Yeah, we've never had to go through in the dead of night, but neither have they." Matches replied. "Everyone keep your ears open, and listen for their footsteps, we can take them down before they take us."

"Should we split up?" asked Snapper. "Cover more ground?"

"No." said Coleman. "We stick together, or they could overwhelm us one by one." He stopped for a moment to cup his hands around his mouth and yell, "Hey, Robas! When you were born, was it just you, or was there a whole litter!?"

There was no reply, only the shimmering of the branches in the breeze. The brothers kept going, occasionally hearing the faintest movement in the brambles, but it would be gone by the time they got there.

"This is no good," Matches noted, grabbing Coleman by the shoulder to stop him. "Maybe there's some merit to covering more ground."

"Alright... but only into pairs. Nobody go off on their own. Matches, with me, let's push through here."

Snapper took Roman's arm to lead him in the other direction. "Come on, pup, we're off to the hunt." Roman followed quietly; the question of how the sisters had found them was still bothering him. It just didn't make sense... no one could navigate through this maze of brambles perfectly like that on their first time through. Even he still got lost on occasion, and he had grown up here.

Snapper and Roman went on for less than two minutes before something happened; unsurprisingly, the brothers splitting up was indeed exactly what the sisters had been waiting for. A sudden rustling to the left caught Roman by surprise, and something collided with Snapper, dragging him off down a side tunnel. "No!" Roman yelled. He tried to run after his brother, but tripped on an exposed root and went facefirst into the dirt. He could hear Snapper grunting in anger as he grappled with the girl dragging him away.

Still on the ground, Roman yelled in frustration; he's let himself and Snapper get separated.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Matches and Coleman weren't in a much better situation. They knew that at least one Noir sister was nearby, maybe two, but they still couldn't see a damn thing. Back to back in a mostly-clear area of the dry brambles, they each held out their weapon, swinging blindly in the dark from time to time. "Dammit!" Matches proclaimed. "Cole, any idea where the mongrels are!?"

"Working on- AH!" His Aura had taken a strike, what felt like a slash across his chest. He swung, but hit only air. "Look out, she's making her move!"

Before Matches could answer, he was struck in turn. "Argh! There's two here!"

The Noir sisters were a dervish of knives and shadow; moving quickly but silently, they lunged and retreated, chipping away at the boy's Auras just a little at a time...

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Roman wasn't sure what kept him on the ground for so long. He should have been going after Snapper, trying to help, but he just couldn't get up. Of his four brothers, he was the weakest, and the youngest. Always the last to the fight. He sat there in the darkness, his hands resting in furrows in the dirt, which he vaguely recognized as the tracks that the cart had left as they dragged it through the maze. Somewhere off to the right, he could hear what sounded like a fight, probably Matches and Cole. He might have heard other voices too, but everything was distorted in here.

At any rate, he needed to stand. He needed to go after Snapper. Roman forced himself to his feet, still clutching his club. It didn't have any fancy folding parts, and it didn't shoot bullets or Dust, but it would do to bash a Noir sister's brains in. He started to jog after Snapper. He just needed to follow the cart tracks to find...

Roman stopped.

The cart tracks.

That was how the Noir Sisters had found their way through the maze. They had followed the trail left by the cart. _They had followed the trail of the damn cart._

Roman spun around. It was inky black; he couldn't see the tracks. "But they can..." Roman said out loud to himself. The Noirs were Faunus. They could see in the dark. The revelation hit the youngest brother like a tidal wave; the ambush was perfect. The sisters had lured the brothers into the dark, where they had the ultimate advantage. They'd use shadows to snuff out the Torchwick brother's flames forever. But on the other hand...

Abandoning the search for Snapper, Roman turned and began navigating his way out of the thicket as fast as he could. Making his way to an exit, he emerged back into the orange-lit yard of his home, and sprinted up to the shack. Shouldering the door open, he skidded to a stop in the main room where he and his brothers had been celebrating minutes earlier, and looked around until he spotted the bottle of scotch, still half full. Roman wasted no time, tearing off a strip of his blazer and dipping it in his own glass, which was still balanced on the arm of the couch.

Seizing the bottle, Roman stuck the soaked cloth down the mouth, went to a candle, and lit the cloth from the flame. Examining his makeshift firebomb, the young brother smiled. "Hide from this, Kitty-Cats."

Running out the front door, Roman raised the Molotov Cocktail high above his head and flung it, as hard as he could, into the brambles.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Robas Noir crouched in the shadows, licking her teeth in anticipation. Up ahead, she could see the eldest two Torchwick brothers, crouch back-to-back with their arms up defensively. A last stand. And she meant to make sure it was exactly that. Robas looked over to Sek, also crouched and ready to lunge. Sek met her eye, smiled, and nodded knowingly. It was time to end this. Robas brought up her dagger and hooked her index finger through the loop on the bottom. Twisting it, she unscrewed the secret compartment in the handle and withdrew a small vial of poison. She yanked the cap off with her teeth, and poured the venom onto the blade.

The two sisters had practiced this maneuver: Sek would deliver one final wide slash to finish their auras, and then Robas would bring in the poison. She was looking forward to seeing the look on Coleman's face when she sunk the blade into his gut...

Robas began slinking forward, readying her weapon for the final, crucial attack. Sek crept forth from the other direction, doing the same. It would be won in just a moment, the haul would be theirs, and best of all, they'd never have to hear the name "Torchwick" ever again...

Just as she was tensed to lunge, Robas was caught off guard by the crash of breaking glass and a sudden flood of light, as a nearby section of the thicket seemed to spontaneously burst into flames. Overbalancing out of surprise, the sister stumbled right into the waiting guard of Coleman, who caught her with an elbow across the face that sent her reeling, before bringing his club to bear and delivering a flurry of strikes. Sek, meanwhile, had been grabbed by Matches, who headbutted her several times before she unsheathed her lion's talons, taking him by surprise and allowing her to break free.

The Torchwicks and Noirs began a flustered melee and club clashed with dagger and smoke swirled through the thick air, cries of rage and pain mixing with the crackling of fire. The shock of the clearing being illuminated so suddenly had made all the difference, and the brothers were turning the tides on the faunus girls.

Anxiously aware of how strained her aura was, and of the flames spreading quickly through the dry vines, Robas decided it was time to cut and run. "Sek, let's get the hell out of here!" The clawed sister nodded, and the two turned to retreat into the darkness.

"Leaving already?" Coleman called. "I thought we were having a lovely evening!" He turned to look at Matches, while pointing at the fleeing sisters. "After them, let's go!" The bigger brother nodded, and the two ran after their rivals.

Robas and Sek burst free from the rapidly-expanding wildfire to see Raksha already waiting for them in the nearby alley. "Hurry!" Raksha called to her twin and older sister.

"What does it look like we're doing!?" Sek snapped back, before looking back over her shoulder. Not only had Cole and Matches followed them out, but the youngsters, Roman and Snapper, were emerging from the thicket as well. All four Torchwicks brandished clubs and devious grins.

Roman looked over to Snapper, relieved. "Snap, you're alright!"

"Yeah! Got into a bit of a fight with Raksha, but I'm okay."

As the sisters escaped into the darkened alley, Coleman slid to a stop, and beckoned for his kin to do the same. "Hold! We follow and this turns into a street brawl; we do _no_ t need the cops on us, not with our bounty safe at home."

The others stopped, Roman most hesitantly of all. "But... the Noir Sisters are gonna get away."

"Don't worry, pup. We'll have another shot."

Sure enough, the Torchwick brothers' eternal rivals were long gone, having fled into the night. Coleman gave a contented smile. To be perfectly honest with himself, he was rather looking forward to their next clash with the sisters. For the time being, though, he had bigger concerns. Turning around, Cole looked up at the inferno that now consumed the maze that had once protected their home. "Who's idea was this?"

"...Mine." Said Roman meekly. "I'm sorry, fellas. I couldn't think of anything else. They could see us in the dark, see. That's how they got through the maze; they followed the trail from the wagon we brought the apples home in."

Matches and Snapper seemed unsure of how to deal with this, so they simply looked at Coleman and waited for his response.

Cole was quiet, staring at Roman with a blank look on his face. After a moment, however, he couldn't hold it in anymore, and burst out laughing. "Well done, little pup! You protected what's ours, and saved our bastard skins to boot!"

"But..." Roman started. "I mean... what about the maze? It kept us safe."

"Aye, but we're still standing, and we still have the food. Speaking of which, we should really go make sure our home doesn't burn down. Come on, lads. Let's go dig a trench."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

The next morning, the entire perimeter thicket was nothing but a blackened field of ash, forming a massive donut around the Torchwick hovel. The four brothers stood out in front of the shack, looking out across the damage. "So," growled Matches, "we know how they got through the maze. But how did they know about the heist?"

"I don't know." Coleman admitted.

Snapper looked over at him. "You... don't even have a theory?"

"I know I _seem_ like the man with the plan, but this time I've got nothing. I suppose the robbery was pretty public, but they sure were ready quick. Who knows."

He took a deep breath. "We're open to the elements now, and I don't mean wind and rain. We need to play things differently from now on." He turned to Matches. "We'll need to move those apples right quick. You'll need to get to work straight away." Matches nodded an affirmation, and headed back inside, while Coleman addressed Snapper. "Snap, I want you up on the roof. We need someone on watch at all times until the booty is out of our hands." Snapper followed Matches in, and the eldest brother turned his attention to the youngest. "Roman... come with me."

Coleman strode off across the ashes, hands in his pockets, and Roman followed.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

On the roof of the butcher store that made up the east wall of the empty lot the Torchwicks lived in, Coleman looked out over the city before him. The Great City of Vale, one of the four main kingdoms of Remnant. Ocean to its west. Mountains, east. Safe, secure and alive. Cole breathed in the cool breeze that sifted down from the mountains and looked back at Roman. "Look out here, little brother. It's time you had a full understanding of what our life is."

Roman walked over to join Cole on the edge. "I know what our life is. We steal to survive, and we look out for what's ours."

"Mm-hm. And you know what that makes us?"

"Uh..." Roman considered the question, but it probably didn't matter. No matter what he said, he had a feeling it would be wrong. "Crooks?"

Coleman laughed. "Yes, crooks, but more!" He gestured out over the view, indicating the local neighborhood. "Look at it! Little Mistral, our home! A little slice of a faraway kingdom, tucked into a slum. And it belongs to whoever can stay alive in it."

Coleman put an arm around Roman's shoulders. "Roman, you've got a real head on your shoulders. That's going to help you a lot. You _think_ -" he tapped his temple, "and you stay _alive._ We do that and more. We're going to climb the ladder. We're going to take what we need, and we're going to be princes of this place." He looked down at his little brother. "So what do you think, pup? You want to be a Prince of Little Mistral?"

Roman considered his answer carefully. He knew he was _supposed_ to say yes, but...

"No." Roman said bluntly.

Coleman blinked in genuine surprise. "No?"

"No." Roman spoke from the heart, as honestly as he could. "I don't want to be a Prince of Little Mistral." He looked up at Cole and smiled. "I want to be the King of Vale."

AN: Thank you all for reading, and please leave a review if you can, it helps me a lot.


	2. V1 - Icarus, Chapter 2

The kitchen of the Torchwick homestead could barely be qualified as such, but it got the job done. A finicky, barely-functional oven that was fond of bursting into flames was crammed between the corner and a makeshift sink setup that didn't actually work at all; bowls of water had to be kept underneath for use instead, with the sink's basin being the only useful part of it.

But years living in such conditions had taught Matches Torchwick to make due. Stepping up to the counter and rolling up his sleeves, the biggest brother got to work, work which would probably occupy him all day. Not that he minded. Matches had always been one to rather enjoy a good day's work; while his kin tended to be more easily put off by the tedium of it, he preferred the simplicity of manual labor over Coleman's more dynamic activities.

And so, after taking a moment to gather his thoughts in peace, Matches gathered the supplies he would need for a long, hard day... of baking.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Under a hot midday sun, Coleman and Roman walked down the busy main avenue of Little Mistral. With their nicest clothes on, and weapons concealed away under their jackets, the two were in an effort to blend in, hoping not to make anyone suspect them up to no good; when, of course, that was exactly what they were up to.

Since his victory against the Noir Sisters the previous night, Roman felt emboldened in his abilities, ready to take on the entire world if he needed to. So, when Coleman had offered him the chance to learn a new, "vital" criminal skill, he emphatically seized the opportunity. As the youngest brother, Roman had always felt like the least useful; now, for the first time, the power to become as skilled as the rest of his family seemed to be within his reach.

As they walked, he noted that Coleman was very polite to passerby, nodding and smiling to them, and they would nod and smile back. Roman asked about this after a particularly kindly-looking old woman bade them a good morning. "Cole... don't these people know who we are? Why are they so nice?"

"Of course they know who we are, little brother!" Cole said with a smile. "Everyone in Little Mistral knows the Torchwick brothers. But they know we don't cause too much trouble in public..." he leaned in closer, to whisper. "And one or two of them might be just a hair's width scared of us, yes? Don't wanna cause any trouble, do they?"

That thought made Roman share the smile. "Besides," Cole continued, "that's rather good for us. Makes it easier to go about our business. Too much infamy's bad for you; if the room goes empty as soon as you walk in, you get pretty lonely."

"No one to rob?"

Coleman laughed out loud at his brother's boldness. "No, Roman! No one to rob!"

"Should I not be saying that out here? Is that okay?"

"Not in front of any cops. Not much of a worry here in the old town, though." Coleman came to a stop at a street corner, looking around the bustling district. Roman came to a stop alongside him, waiting to see what would be next.

"Hmmm..." the older brother muttered to himself as he scanned the crowd, chewing his tongue in consideration. "Yes, this will probably do fine. This way." He led Roman aside, into a shadowed alcove where they could speak without being overheard. "Alright. Today, little brother, I'm going to teach you how to pick pockets."

"Really?" Roman asked with a grin; he'd been looking forward to learning this one.

"Really really. Now, it's a mite tricky, and a disaster to get wrong, so I need us to be square on something right now: you're to follow my instructions very carefully, and _listen_ to what I have to say, yes?"

"Alright, yes!" he replied eagerly. Cole gave him a smile.

"Very well, then. Let's get started."

He led his little brother back onto the sidewalk and gestured around. "First thing's first; you have to pick a mark. Tell me; who do you think we should pickpocket?"

Roman looked around at the crowd; his dominant thought was to pick out a target who looked wealthy. His green eyes passed over kids and adults, men and women, Mistrali and Valeans, until finally they settled on a middle-aged woman with a green opal necklace. "Her," he said, pointing as discretely as possible to avoid attracting her attention. Coleman followed his gaze and looked at the woman, frowning.

"Hm. I see. Why her?"

"She's rich, isn't she? Look at the jewelry."

"Yeah... yeeeeah, she's rich alright." Cole looked down at him and smiled. "But she's not a good mark."

"Why not!?"

"You have to consider your environment, Roman. That woman's Mistrali; look at her clothes. That means she's a local. Probably moved here straight from the Old Kingdom, first or second generation."

"Why does that matter?"

"Remember, Little Mistral knows our faces. Folk see us, they get suspicious of our intentions, especially if they're carrying valuables around town. Makes for a very difficult pick."

Roman considered this, and decided it made sense. "Alright, then, who should our mark be?"

Coleman adjusted his sleeves merrily, and pointed to a group of people across the street, on the opposite corner. " _Them_."

Roman squinted at them; they weren't dressed like locals; he wasn't sure where they were from. It looked like a family: a roughly middle-aged couple, probably husband and wife, and a sullen-looking teenage girl and merrier-looking young boy, probably their kids. They were beaming around stupidly (aside from the teen) and taking pictures with their scrolls. "Are those... tourists?"

"Babes in the wood. Tourists are the best marks: they're clueless, out of their element, eager to please and eternally distracted. Hapless guppies in the wrong pond." Cole took his brother's shoulder. "These people want to experience Little Mistral's culture, brother 'o mine. Let's introduce them to it!"

Roman grinned. "Just show me what to do!"

Coleman looked back across the street at the family, who were about to cross. He then spoke quickly, as if he had just remembered something. "Oh, by the by, is your aura up?"

"What, right now? No, why ar-"

Coleman lashed out with one foot and kicked Roman hard in the shin. "ARGGHH!" Roman yelled in pain, grabbing his shin as he tumbled to the sidewalk. While Roman winced in agony, Coleman leaned down, reached into his jacket, and roughly pulled out the younger Torchwick's wallet. Without saying another word, Coleman sprinted off down the sidewalk, taking Roman's money with him.

Confused and in pain, Roman looked around for Coleman, but quickly found that he could no longer spot him; the elder brother had vanished into the crowd, taking Roman's sorry excuse for spending money with him. It wasn't much of a loss; only a couple coins, barely enough to buy gum, but the combination of the attack and the theft left Roman gritting his teeth in anger, in between gritting them in pain as he clutched his smarting leg. "Oh my gods!" yelled a man's voice, and Roman looked up to see the father of the tourist family running over to him, followed by the rest of his clan.

"Is he alright!?" asked the mother as the man knelt down to Roman's level.

"What happened, son!?" he asked.

Roman tried to think fast; for the second time in as many days, his family's livelihood was dependent on his ability to strategize on the fly. Between surges of pain and frustration, the idea started to come together in his head that this was undoubtedly part of Coleman's plan to fleece the family. He was picturing a vague idea of what Cole _probably_ had in mind; if he was right, he just needed to play along.

"He... he..." Roman bit his lower lip, attempting to appear more emotional. "He took everything!" the young Torchwick allowed his voice to break pitifully. "That w-w-was all my family's money!"

As the family crowded around, and the father took Roman's arm to gently help him to his feet, the young boy stared in awe. "Dad, did that other man just rob him?"

"Yes, Dusang."

The mother took both of her children's arms, looking around as though more robbers might leap from between the paving stones at any moment. _That won't do…_ Roman thought to himself. _Have to keep her distracted._ Gasping in exaggerated pain, he stumbled back to the ground, pretending his injury was worse than it was... not that it wasn't nail-bitingly painful. "Are you okay!?" the daughter suddenly asked, looking concerned. Roman looked up to get a good look at her; she was about his age, and pretty, with silky black hair. And she seemed more concerned with him than anything else around her... _I can use that..._

Roman flashed the girl his most charming smile. "I'll be alright," he said, trying to sound like he was braving through. "I've had worse, believe me." Her cheeks were tinged with pink now, and more than that, the act was paying off in large: the whole family looked very concerned.

"It's not broken, is it?" asked the father. "It looked like he kicked you pretty hard..."

 _You're damn right he did._ "No, it's not broken. I just need to sit for a moment." He showed them his pearly whites again. "It's easier with good company." As he met the family's faces, his gaze happened to flit behind them, where, across the street, he noticed Coleman standing discretely in the shade, looking over at the scene with a sly grin. He had acquired a greyish scarf- likely from another tourist- and was wrapping it around his lower face to conceal himself.

"Well, we'll stay with you until you feel like you can move around," said the mother kindly. "We wouldn't want you to fall prey to any more ruffians like that."

"I appreciate that." Roman said politely, while Cole crossed the street at a casual pace. "If you don't mind my asking, where are you all from? You don't seem like locals."

"Down from Atlas, in fact." said the father. "Family vacation."

Roman kept smiling, maintaining the facade while his older brother gently sidled up behind the family, quickly and quietly slipping a hand into the mother's purse. "Quite a place for it!" the younger Torchwick said merrily, his emerald eyes twinkling. "As a native of Little Mistral, I have to sincerely apologize for your first impression."

"Oh, but we hoped to see this sort of thing!" the mother said unwittingly, failing to spot the crook who had just lifted quite a bit of lien from her bag.

"Did you?"

"Oh yeah," said the father as Coleman deftly slid his wallet from his back pocket. "Where we're from, we don't get much opportunity to see people like you."

Roman's smiled flickered. What the man just said was taking a moment to register. "Like... me?"

"Oh, no offense, son. Most everyone in Atlas lives quite comfortably, and we wanted to get a look at the kind of people who form the base, you know? These... salt-of-the-earth type people who have it more difficult than us."

Roman found himself having a hard time maintaining the friendly facade. There was something condescending about that idea, about this better-off family coming to look at his people like animals in a zoo, which annoyed him deeply. He even noticed Coleman hesitating, but the older brother kept his head.

Roman followed the same example, smiling and nodding at the father as though in agreement, while Cole gave him a nod to indicate that they had what they needed. "Well, let me see how I can do on my feet, then..." he said, climbing upright. The daughter was quick to rush forward and help him, and discretely pushed a piece of paper into his hand as she did. Pocketing it without a word, Roman gave her a smile. "Well, thank you all, really, but I have to be going now."

"Oh, are you sure?" asked the mother. "We could use a tour guide, and we'd be happy to pay you."

Not wanting to be within arm's reach when they discovered that their money was gone, Roman smiled yet again, shaking his head. He made his goodbyes, and then left, jogging off to find Coleman.

He caught up with his older brother a little over a block away; the 24-year-old was counting the money he'd retrieved with a grin on his face. "My word, little brother, my word... Atlas tourists do pay off the best, don't they?"

Roman glared at him, which was ignored as he kept talking. "This is good, we'll eat for two days on this alone! And how did you enjoy your first pickpocket?"

"You kicked me. Hard."

"Yes I did."

"You could have warned me."

"Yes I could." Coleman ruffled his hair dismissively; Roman pushed his hand away. "Don't be so bitter, Roman! You did marvelously; I just knew you'd figure out what I was up to."

As Roman continued to look angry, Cole finally sighed. "Don't worry, I'll make it up to you, O-long-suffering-hero. We'll get ice cream, come on. And..." he undid the grey scarf he was wearing and wrapped it around Roman's neck. "You can keep this. It suits you, and it'll come in handy for future picks. Happy?"

He was actually pretty happy with how he'd come out in the arrangement, but barely let him show it, simply giving his older brother a begrudgingly-satisfied nod. Coleman laughed. "Brother-o-mine, you'll make an excellent conman one day. That's good, they pay well. And do well with the ladies."

That reminded the younger brother of something, and he unfolded the scrap of paper the girl had given him; there was a scroll number on it. Coleman noticed.

"Thinking of calling her? Breaking Colza's heart? She was pretty."

"She was rich Atlas trash." said Roman dismissively, pocketing the number.

"That too. Come, let's go eat something unhealthy."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

As the afternoon sun grew downright abusive on the increasingly hot streets and sidewalks of Little Mistral, Matches trundled along with the fruits of his labors in tow: a small, wooden wagon covered in a blanket to conceal the goodies within. The man was practically deluged in sweat from the day's work; seven hours of nonstop baking, followed by loading the results into the cart (Snapper was a help, but only so much of one), and lugging them out of the lot and onto the streets. And now, gracefully, his goal was in sight.

 _Frost's_ was a small bakery, hard to spot tucked away as it was between two larger shops. But it had a reputation in this town; it was family-run, going three generations back to Mistrali immigrants, and the family in question were hard workers, good to their customers, and in the good graces of Poppa Gold's family, which meant a lot more here in Little Mistral then it did everywhere else. But the best part was that the current owner, Plúr, was a shrewd man, and wise with his money; he always had ample savings tucked away.

And, as Matches was counting on, he was always ready to put his money into a good investment.

So he walked towards the bakery, keeping as close an eye as he could on the surrounding crowds, just in case of any light-fingered folk who wanted what he had. He had almost reached _Frost's,_ and was even reaching for the door, when he saw something that gave him pause. Peering through the window into the shop, he noted that a customer was already inside, speaking across the counter to Plúr's daughter, Farina. What made Matches hesitate was that he thought he recognized the man; it was hard to tell through the windows, affect by the glare from the blazing street, but he was equally hard to miss.

Matches withdrew his hand. The person inside the bakery was not an enemy, per se. In fact, he'd been decent to the Torchwicks. However, given the current situation, Matches had a feeling that running into this man now of all times, especially while carting his goods with him, could lead to problems. It was unlikely, to be sure... but, the largest Torchwick brother ultimately decided that it was best to avoid the risk of a confrontation. Turning away, he quickly rolled the cart into a shadowed alcove some ten feet from the door, where he sat and waited, one hand resting against the wooden fence behind him as his eyes watched the door.

It was less than a minute before the man emerged from _Frost's._ He was tall and thin, with dark, greenish hair. We wore copper-framed sunglasses concealing his eyes, a black Nehru jacket with matching gloves, copper cufflinks, and black slacks with a small, greyish cape shaped like the wings of a cicada hanging from the back of his belt, which Matches new concealed a weapon at all times. His belt buckle was copper, and had an insignia of a woman's head with sixteen glaring snakes emerging from her scalp. On his feet, he wore a pair of snakeskin moccasins, and in his hand, he held a donut.

Matches had been correct: it was Contor Trix all right.

Contor looked around from behind his shades (failing to notice Matches in the process), and sunk his teeth into his donut before walking off. Matches waited just long enough for him to round the corner before emerging with the cart and immediately making for the door. He pushed his way in, as relieved to escape the grueling sun as he was to not have to deal with Contor.

If Matches had been hoping that the inside of _Frost's_ would be cooler then the summer street outside, then he had been mistaken. The nearly nonstop work of the ovens in the back kept the inside punishingly hot. The carpeted floors, brick walls and wooden counter were the same as ever, open to making any citizen of Little Mistral feel welcome when they walked through the door.

Farina - a fourteen-year old girl with ash-colored hair, eyes and apron - looked up and smiled as Matches entered, showing a couple missing teeth. "Hey! I haven't seen you in here in forever!" she said, right in the middle of wiping a few crumbs off the counter.

"I need to see your father." said Matches, leaving the cart in the center of the room and leaning against the counter. "Fetch him, please." Farina nodded, twirled around, and skipped through the door and out of sight.

"Pops, Matches Torchwick is here!" He heard her calling.

It wasn't much of a delay before the portly, forty-year old man emerged, sporting the same ash-colored hair as his daughter, and mother whom he'd inherited the bakery from. "Matches, my boy!" Plúr announced jovially. "I feel like I haven't seen you since our homeland was at war! What can I do for you?" Matches said nothing in response, but merely whipped away the blanket, revealing sixty still-steaming apple pies. "Ah!" the baker continued, "you spoil us, young man! Always such good work, and at such fair prices." He leaned forward dramatically, placing his hands on the counter. "One may almost think you're obtaining these goods in a less-then-legal manner..."

He maintained a serious stare for several seconds before laughing. Matches didn't join in. Once Plúr was done, he asked, in a more businesslike tone. "As always, I must inquire: this is all good with the Man Up Top, yes?"

"It will be."

"'It will be?'" He repeated back, now looking concerned. "What the hell does that mean, Matches? You taking risks? You know who was just in here, yes? Tricks. Tricks was in here."

"I know. I'm not stupid, Plúr. We know what we're doing. Coleman is going to smooth it over with Poppa Gold's people as soon as he gets the chance."

This seemed to reassure Plúr, who smiled again. "Ah, Coleman. That boy's got such a silver tongue, I'm surprised Grimm don't run away when he talks. Alright, Matches, we can make a deal. You always know this works out well for me."

"It works out well for both of us. You buy my goods to resell, you make the larger profit, and we can't sell pies; me and mine get to put food on the table for a few more weeks."

"That a concern? What, your little brothers don't like apples?" Plúr laughed at his own joke. Matches didn't.

"So," said the Torchwick. "Let's talk prices."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

A few blocks away, while Matches was up to business, Roman and Cole were on pleasure. Specifically, the pleasure of ice cream. In a nice little diner, the two sat and laughed over their success over a few scoops of pumpkin-flavored, joyfully accepting the cold confections as a way to beat the heat. "It's very simple once you've mastered it, Roman." Cole was saying. "But the key, the real secret to picking, is spatial awareness. You've got to look around, decide where the mark is most likely to look, and where you can run if you get spotted."

It occurred to Roman that, in their elation, they were probably talking about pickpocketing more loudly then they should have been, but that didn't stop him from answering; he was too excited to learn the technique.

"Then it probably helps us to know our way around town so well."

" _Exactly!"_ Coleman replied, pointing at his brother with his spoon. "It's what gives us the edge, pup! It's what makes us the best!"

The two returned to their ice cream for a moment, before Coleman changed the subject, a bit cautiously. "So... King of Vale? That's where you want to be?"

"Yep."

"You think that's possible, Roman?"

"I'll make it possible."

Concerned as he was over his brother's ambition, Cole couldn't help but smile slightly at his resolve. "Interesting. I've gotta warn you, that... cavalier of yours could get you killed."

Roman didn't say anything, merely staring down at his ice cream with a thoughtful look. Coleman decided to continue. "What makes us survive, Roman... we aim high, but not too high. We take what we want, but we have to be cautious, too. I'd never have robbed those tourists today if I didn't see at least two nearby escape routes, you see?"

"You saying I can't do it?" Roman asked in a challenging tone.

"Pick pockets?"

"Be the King."

"Maybe you can. You have the wits for it, I can tell you that. But Roman, you cross the wrong person in this mission of yours, you upset the wrong people..." Coleman leaned forward, giving his brother a serious gaze. "Kings die, Roman. Kings die all the time."

Roman looked down at his lap, considering what Cole was saying. Part of him knew that his older brother was just looking out for him, but he also felt angry. It felt like Coleman didn't have faith in him.

"Roman, _do you get me_?" Cole asked sternly.

"Alright, I get you. Kings die. I'll try not to."

Cole sighed and leaned back in his booth seat, wrinkling the cheap red leather. "Well, I guess that's good enough. Just do me a favor and don't go on with any of this King talk in front of any of Poppa Gold's people, you're likely to get fed to a Griffon."

"I'm not stupid." Roman replied, before digging into his ice cream again. As he ate, Coleman considered him carefully. As the youngest brother of their quartet, he had always had less time to bond with Roman than the others, and now, he was regretting it. It seemed as though the last one of them to be born may well have been the cleverest and most ambitious all along.

After finishing their treats, the two brothers were about to leave, when Cole spotted something out the window that made him stop for a moment; the same thing, in fact, that had had such an effect on Matches before he entered the bakery: the sight of Contor Trix standing outside the window, smiling in at both brothers from behind his shades. Roman saw him as well; he had seen Coleman and Matches talking to the man a couple times, but had never really been introduced. "Is that Tricks?" he asked, having heard Contor's nickname from Snapper.

"Sure is." Cole replied.

Outside, Tricks looked right at the older boy and crooked his finger at him in a clear "come here" gesture. "Stay in here for a moment, alright?" Coleman instructed.

"I'd like to meet him."

"...Well, okay. But you be respectful, hear me?"

"Got it."

The bell over the door jingled as the two brothers emerged into the glaring afternoon sun, and turned to see Contor leaning against the window, giving them a toothy grin. Cole wasted no time in returning the favor. "Tricks! How wonderful to see you, my friend!"

The two shook hands as Contor replied. "Coleman Torchwick, always wonderful, I fully agree." He turned his attention to Roman, sunglasses glinting. "And this could only be... the youngest, yes?"

Coleman introduced them. "Roman, Contor, Contor, Roman."

"Hey there." Roman said as he shook Contor's hand in turn. He noticed that the man had a strange, somewhat unpleasant smell.

"My word, little, man, you are the spitting image of your older brother over here."

"So, Tricksy," Cole asked once the introductions were over. "I think we all already know why you're here, so if you'd like to have a discussion?"

"Of course, Cole, right this way." Tricks led them aside, into a cool, shaded alley. As soon as he was out of the sun, his body language shifted noticeably; his shoulders tensed, and his movements became slower and more deliberate. Roman found himself strangely nauseated by how the taller man carried himself.

Contor folded his arms, looked at Cole, and raised his eyebrows, as though waiting for him to begin. Coleman sighed. "Look, Contor, I'll be straight with you. I was absolutely going to come talk with you, you or Sam, you don't have to worry. You know me, I do everything right."

Contor simply stared at Cole for a moment. In the silence, Roman had time to observe what looked like the edge of a weapon poking out from below the cape that hung from his belt.

"I believe you, Cole. You've always followed the rules, been a good boy. But you know, I just wonder what took all day. Why did _I_... have to find _you?"_

"It's been a busy day. Had to spend it with my brother here, you know how it goes, family first."

"So you send someone else. You've got two other brothers, hmmm?"

"Matches was busy. Had to turn some of the apples into pies. And I couldn't send Snapper for something like that, the kid's not ready yet."

Contor stroked his chin. "Alright, Cole, I see what's going on. It's all fine. I just need to know we're getting Poppa Gold's tax."

Coleman reached out to put a hand on Contor's shoulder; Roman knew that he knew what he was doing, but he couldn't help but feel a bit nervous, as though Contor would bite Cole's hand off. "Absolutely! You don't have to worry at all, I will see to it myself: tonight, at the usual place. You know me and mine always come through for you and yours."

Contor smiled affirmatively, but then the smile dropped off. "That's not the only reason I'm here. I figured you deserved to know first; the real problem is how I heard about the heist."

Cole looked concerned. Contor kept going. "I heard about it _before_ the fact. From _Robas Noir_ of all people. You've got a problem, Cole."

Coleman nodded. "I already know. The Noirs paid us a visit last night and tried to take the food."

"Nobody was hurt, were they?"

"Not seriously. But they're obviously spying on us. Thanks for the heads up, Tricks."

Contor smiled again. "Don't say I never gave you anything."

Cole gestured for Roman to follow as he walked out of the alley and back on to the street. Roman acquiesced, looking back over his shoulder to spot Contor watching them as they moved on.

The younger brother caught up to his elder. "That guy puts me on edge."

"Hey, you wanted to meet him. He's an enforcer, he has to be scary. Part of his job."

Cole took a deep breath as they walked; Roman had the feeling there was a lot on his mind. Nevertheless, Cole turned his attention back to him, and smiled. "So let's talk about what you've learned today. I taught you the best and simplest kind of pickpocket, using a distraction. But there are other kinds too." He threw an arm around Roman. "Now, listen good..."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Late that evening, the Torchwick hovel was quiet, and cool by comparison to the day. Only Roman and Matches were home, as Coleman and Snapper were off delivering Poppa Gold's heist-tax out of the apple shipment to Contor. This left the house feeling very calmed, deprived of half the Torchwick family's usual energy. As Matches sat quietly in the corner, counting money, Roman occupied his usual spot on the moldy couch, turning the scroll number he had gotten from the Atlas girl over in his hand. He smiled at the thought of wondering where that family were now, and how much they felt they had gained out of their trip to Little Mistral.

Roman was glad to have learned what Coleman taught him. In the Torchwick family, it fell to the older brothers to teach the younger ones the tricks of surviving the streets, but as Roman and Snapper had been born fairly close together, it hadn't always felt like there had been enough time for Cole and Matches to teach Roman while they were busy with his immediate predecessor. And that just wouldn't do. Roman was the youngest of the Torchwick brothers, and the lowest on the totem pole... but someday, he saw himself at the top. He wanted to rule Vale, not like the Council and the Huntsmen _thought_ they did, but the REAL way, from the streets up, like Poppa Gold. Being a Kingpin, as far as Roman Torchwick was concerned, was the only true way to be a King.

 _And a King needs a Queen._

As the night before, Roman's thoughts sailed away to the girl who lived up the hill... Roman smiled to himself as he recalled the last time he had seen her... and now, he decided, was the time to see her again. Roman stood up, reached over, and pushed the slip of paper into the flame of a candle, burning it away to nothing. He looked over at his brother.

"Matches, I'm going out."

"Mmm." Matches didn't look up from his work.

"I'm going to go see Colza."

"Mmm."

"Might not be back in until tomorrow."

"Mmm."

Shrugging, Roman turned to the window and clambered out into the cool, blue night air. His feet crunched in the dirt and ashes that were once the thicket as he strode across the lot, and then sprinted into an alleyway. He had taken this route many times before, and he knew how to cover it quickly; from block to block, cutting through alleys and lots, with every street name along the way memorized. He ducked through gaps in fences, and vaulted over low hedges. Vale was his playground, and tonight, he was unstoppable.

Leaving Little Mistral behind was noticeable; the (in some places, shoddy) replications of Mistrali architecture gave way to Vale's stout buildings and airy plazas. Over fifteen blocks he covered, before finally, sweating and winded, he reached on very special narrow street; one he had stood in many times before, to call up to the window above. Looking up, Roman noted that the light in this one window was on, but the rest were dim. He smiled, deciding it was a sign that this late-night dalliance was simply meant to be.

Today, everything was coming up Roman Torchwick.

Taking a moment to reclaim his breath (before it would surely be taken away again), the young thief cracked his knuckles, looked around to be sure the street was deserted, and began to climb, taking his time as he made his way up from ledge to drainage pipe and back to ledge, worming towards the one lit window he could see; as far as he was concerned, the only lit window in the world. It took him four minutes to reach the ledge he was after, on the third floor. Sitting next to the window, he decided to chance a glance inside. The curtains were closed, but not enough.

He could see the room: resplendent and well-furnished, with a silky magenta rug and wide bed with a cream-colored bedspread. And at the tall, expensive-looking vanity, she sat, dressed in a nightgown and seemingly brushing her hair before bed. Said hair was long and chocolatey-brown, belonging to a pallid but pretty girl of about Roman's age, with vibrant orange eyes and a couple thin braids that usually accented the sides of her hair. Born from old money, Colza Price lived luxuriously, but in a strict environment, where she clung to what few precious rebellions kept her going.

Most notably, her thieving, street-rat boyfriend.

Roman shuffled back a bit along the ledge, rendering himself unseen, and reached out to rap softly on the window. It was only a wait of a couple seconds before Colza came over to open it, leaning her head out and spotting him on his perch.

"Roman! Come in, quick, before someone sees you!"

She moved aside, and Roman climbed in with a smile. She quickly hugged him. "I wasn't sure when I'd see you again!"

"Wasn't sure myself, my little flambeau." he replied, planting a kiss on her. Once they broke apart, she quickly moved to grab him a chair, which he accepted. They sat opposite one another, and she excitedly began to ask questions. "Tell me everything that's been going on with you; I've been so bored this last week, I need to hear something exciting!"

Roman acquiesced. "Oh, I have some tales for you, better believe that."

The two went on to talk for hours. Roman recounted his own recent adventures, mostly the apple heist and the battle with Noirs, while Colza, for her part, contributed her own experiences rather shyly; painfully aware of how banal they were by comparison to what she called "Roman's adventures". It bothered Roman a bit that she saw it that way; to him, it was just his life, and it wasn't always fun or easy. But he understood that she saw things from a different world, and was willing to accept such things as they were, since she had no way of knowing better.

Besides, it impressed her, and that made Roman very happy indeed.

"Roman..." she finally said as the candles grew low, and the night grew long. "I feel so bad for you sometimes." Colza stood from her chair, and strode across the room to the vanity again, looking at her reflection, and Roman's over her shoulder. "You have so much excitement, but so little to your name. To have to live like that..."

Roman stood up as well, following her over to the vanity. "Not forever. It _won't_ be forever."

He turned her around, taking her gently by the chin and meeting her eyes. "Some day, I'm going to rule this whole Kingdom. I'm gonna see it all below my feet as the King of Vale. And when that happens, I want you there. As my Queen."

Nothing more needed to be said. They kissed again, and he led her to the bed.

AN: Another done, and within a set schedule no less. Not sure when the next chapter's coming out, but please remember to leave a review if you can, they very much help me motivate.


	3. V1 - Icarus, Chapter 3

Volume 1 - Icarus

Chapter 3 - Reprisals

Morgan Price was a morning person.

Every morning, he was able to wake up in his grand bed next to his beautiful wife, in their large bedroom in their expensive house and remember how fortunate he had been in life. Every morning, he could look at himself in the mirror; mid-forties, balding and pot-bellied, but still with a strong, healthy color in his cheeks and a gleaming turquoise watch on his wrist. He had money, and he'd live for decades yet. And every morning, he'd dress in his blue velvet suit and pace his home for a time, after breakfast, but before he had to leave to deal with the blithering idiots that worked under him. He would see his fine rugs and loyal servants, and he'd think about all of his successes. It was an excellent way to begin every day.

Being a high-ranking member of the Vale government was an important position after all, and as far as he was concerned, it was for the good of the Kingdom that he always come into work refreshed and ready to take on the day. To that effect, there had been the odd abuse of his power from time to time, all in the interest of keeping himself healthy and happy. But in Morgan's mind, it was all for the greater good: the happier he was, the happier he could keep Vale. And it all came down, first and foremost, to making sure that the _start_ of his day was the _best_ part of his day.

Yes, Morgan Price loved mornings, and as he repeated this daily routine, strutting through his expansive house towards his daughter's room on a particularly fine summer morning, he believed that absolutely nothing could ruin this morning for him.

That illusion was roundly shattered as he opened the doors to his daughter's bedroom with a cheery "Good morning, Princess!" and promptly saw her, staring back at him in shock, being helped back into her clothing by a young, ginger-haired man of around fifteen, his own image of propriety in no way helped by his present lack of a shirt. The two stared at him, their smiles falling. And he stared at them, his smile also falling. There were several seconds of silence before one of them smiled again.

"Morning, sir!" said Roman with a grin. "You must be Colza's father!"

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Out in front of the impressive-looking Price residence, faint yelling could be heard from within, not loud enough to disturb the small flock of pigeons pecking around the white front steps leading up to the doors. The pigeons were less tolerant when the doors burst open and Roman leapt from them, and the yelling became less distant and more clear. "GUARDS! GET HIM! BRING THAT LITTLE DEFILER BACK HERE AT ONCE!" bellowed Morgan as Roman dove through the scattering pigeons and leapt down the steps five at a time, still wearing only a hysterical grin and his pants (he hadn't even had time to grab his shoes before he bolted from Colza's room, not that it was any true loss).

As the three guards, dressed rather like valets, bounded out of the doorway after him, Roman sprinted out onto the street, past a few surprised onlookers as his bare feet made slapping sounds on the pavement. Banking a hard right, the half-dressed teenager felt the wind in his hair as he made a mad dash for an intersection up ahead, hoping to lose his pursuers in the morning traffic. Naturally, they followed. Roman had speed on them, however; the one advantage of being a scrawny kid wearing less clothing then the three adults chasing him.

As he reached the intersection, luck proved to be on his side: a car pulled just past him, allowing Roman to gain yet more ground as it momentarily blocked his pursuers. Roman pushed this advantage for all it was worth, making a mad dash for a chain-linked-off alley and taking it at a leap to grapple with the fence. He scrambled to the top with apelike agility, and tried to leap swiftly down the side... only for disaster to strike as his pant leg caught on the top of the mesh.

For a wild moment, Roman was suspended upside-down by his pant-cuff, struggling in surprise and watching through the fence as the guards kept moving, clearing the intersection and more then regaining their lost ground. Summoning all his strength, the boy reached up to undo his snag in a panic, and was successful: after a quick movement of his fingers, he came free and fell. What should have been an impactful pratfall was deftly turned into a combat roll out of sheer panic, with Roman only barely managing to enter a run again as his followers climbed the fence themselves.

He burst from the end of the alley with the men in hot pursuit, and took a hard right in the hopes of losing them in the crowds. Unfortunately, what crowd there was on the sidewalk mostly stepped out of the way of the odd sight of Roman fleeing and the guards giving chase, making a narrow pathway of humanity that didn't really change the pace of the runners at all. To make matters worse, Roman's initial burst of adrenaline-fueled energy was almost spent; he had burned it too quickly, and the larger men were gaining on him.

Up ahead, he saw a way to at least buy some time: a small street-side kiosk, selling some kind of hot food. Summoning his strength, Roman reached the stand and vaulted over the counter, quickly diving through the kiosk and raising a panic among patrons and owner alike. The guards, less confident in their abilities, slid to a momentary halt before wheeling around the stand and continuing the chase. It had only bought Roman a few extra seconds, but that could make all the difference in the world. Picking up his second wind as best he could, the lad kept trying to pull ahead, making another block before he risked looking back to see his pursuers still keeping up with him; two of them, anyway. He could only assume that one had fallen behind.

It was in this interlude that Roman failed to notice that he had funneled himself towards a wide staircase rising out of the sidewalk and leading up to a footbridge that crossed over the street. Looking ahead, seeing this, and realizing that he didn't have time to change direction, he took the stairs, shoving a commuter aside and bounding up the steps as quickly as the incline would allow. One guard made a dive for him, but barely fell short, his hand closing on air as he stumbled. They recovered quickly and followed him up as he bounded over the stairs and onto the footbridge.

With the bridge mostly empty of people and leading across to more stairs, Roman was almost confident that he had the momentum back... only to see to his dismay, the third guard rising over the steps ahead. Roman slid to a stop, putting together immediately that he had split off from his comrades to cut the street urchin off. Gritting his teeth and thinking quickly, he looked around, and happened to spot something that could help: a garbage truck, trundling along it's morning route, and about to pass under the footbridge. Wasting only enough time to make sure he wasn't too early, the teen ran to the edge and vaulted the rail, sailing off the bridge just as the guards were about to catch up.

He crashed into _mostly_ soft garbage, and his pursuers were left to watch helplessly as he was driven away. Pulling himself up to a sit, Roman burst out laughing at their dismayed faces, and felt the need to rub salt in the wound. "Cheers, gents!" he called over with a wave. "Please pass along my thanks to Mr. Price for his hospitality!"

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

For the next several days, Roman didn't risk visiting Colza. He wasn't stupid; he couldn't imagine that the incident had passed without her father keeping a closer eye on her. He dropped by briefly, looking in her window from the opposite roof to make sure she was okay, before resigning himself to keeping a temporary distance until the heat died down and his previous visit was forgotten. Which meant that he would have to find a new way to occupy his days...

Fortunately, he had taken to pickpocketing rather well, finding that he was not only rather good at it for a novice, but enjoyed it as well. He took great pleasure in experimenting with new tactics, such as jostling people's wallets free in dense crowds or working with one of his brothers to create different, more complex distractions (as Matches and Coleman were frequently busy around this time, he was usually paired with Snapper for this). His success rate was low, but his rate of being caught was even lower, and the two youngest Torchwicks were effectively fast enough to get away from trouble with ease.

On one such fine day, the both of them were out on the prowl, combing the streets for an easy mark. It was a quiet, breezy day, but the middle of the week, and they knew that things would be busy enough soon with rush hour. Snapper chew something thin and green as they walked, hands in their pockets. Roman shot a glance at him. "What is that?" he asked.

"Mint stick, I think. Lifted it from some businesslady a few blocks back."

"It any good?"

Snapper took it out of his mouth and gave it a strange look. "Nah." He tossed it aside without losing a step.

Roman gazed around at the handful of people in the colorful street. "See anyone we like?"

Snapper smiled. "Not yet. But there'll be more soon. You're too eager."

"Cole would say I'm just eager enough."

"Well, you know, Cole's not here to help if we get into trouble, so will you calm down? Trust me, I've been doing this longer."

"Tsh. You're only two years older than me, Stumbler."

Snapper glared unhappily. "Don't bring that up again. It was the booze."

"Didn't happen to me."

"Yeah, well getting shoved in front of a car's gonna happen to you if you don't shut up, so lay off a bit, would ya?"

His tone was still joking, but Roman had a feeling he was still a bit embarrassed about falling off the table in front of everyone, which he didn't get. It was a whole week ago, and it wasn't even that bad to begin with.

Even so, it was time for a change of subject. "So Snap, how do you think those faunus found us out?"

The older brother seemed to be rifling through his pockets for something. "Don't know. How about you? Cole says you're supposed to be the clever one now, you tell me."

"Can't square it. Matches and Cole are always careful with their info, I can't imagine who's quiet enough to have been spying."

"Well those Noirs are like wolves, you know. Hard to catch at it."

Roman sighed. "I guess."

The two approached a corner, and Snapper continued. "I've been thinking, though, mayb-" There was a sudden yell as they rounded the corner, and someone smashed straight into the brothers, sending Roman sprawling while Snapper stumbled back, barely managing to maintain his footing. "THE HELL!?" Snapper declared, regaining his balance and looking down at the boy who had crashed into Roman; about the same age and build, but with wiry blonde hair. He was wearing a backpack, which split open as he and Roman crashed to the ground together, spilling half a dozen paper-wrapped parcels on the sidewalk. After gawking for only a moment, Snapper was quick to move forward and help his brother up.

"What hit me!?" Roman hissed, looking down at the blonde boy, who was now scrambling around, desperately gathering up the parcels while murmuring to himself.

"Nononononooooo... they're gonna kill me..."

Snapper and Roman looked at each other questioningly, then back at him. "You alright there, friend?" Snapper asked. The boy wasn't paying attention; he was busy trying to shove an armful of the parcels back into his pack, only to notice the tear and curse under his breath. Roman leaned forward to look at the packets, his curiosity piqued now his anger was fading.

"Hang on, what... what are those?" He picked one up as the backpacker fumbled with them.

"Roman, don't!" Snapper insisted, and the newcomer looked up.

"Hey, put that down!" he cried, his voice cracking a bit. "I can't lose any, give it here!"

Roman looked down at the package he was holding, and back at the carrier, his eyes narrowing. "What's going on?" Something in him was smelling opportunity.

"There's _no time!"_ The other boy half-screamed, a frantic look on his gaunt face. "Give it back _now, they're gonna find me!"_

"Who's gonna find-"

"THERE HE IS!"

All three boys found their attention drawn to this new voice from up the street; two people were advancing, both wearing dirty, run-down clothes and pissed-off expressions. One was a bald man with glazed eyes, the other, a scrawny, nearly emaciated woman who seemed to be missing clumps of her wispy hair.

They were also both carrying switchblades.

" _There!"_ Shrieked the woman, pointing at Roman with her knife. "Those two are _helping him!_ Get the little bastards!" The two broke into a sprint, huffing like rabid animals.

"Hell, hell!" said Snapper, hurriedly grabbing up several of the parcels, the ones not already being held by the others. "Run, let's _go!_ " The teenagers took off, with him leading the way, while the adults followed.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

The two knife-wielders ran down a decrepit alleyway, searching for their quarries and unaware that they had just missed them. A pair of eyes watched them pass from a low, thin basement window near the pavement, hidden in shadow and caked in dust. As soon as they were out of sight, Snapper Torchwick sighed in relief. "Okay, I think they've definitely lost us." He hopped down from the cracked concrete divider was standing on and turned to face the room he was in; old, gloomy, and dirty, with only a little light coming in to reveal the cement walls covered in old dust. Roman and the mousy boy both stared back at him.

"...Thank you." said the boy. "Thank you for helping me."

"We _didn't."_ Snapper said harshly. _"You_ brought a problem down on us, my brother and I are just surviving it." He looked at Roman. "They saw you holding the package, so they thought we were with him." Taking a breath, Snapper then advanced on the blonde boy. "Alright, just... tell us who they are! And who you are!"

"Wait, why do we need to know that?" Roman asked.

"Because now, even if we leave him on his own, this situation might follow us home somehow. So we need to know!"

"My name's Eton!" he said defensively, holding his hands up. "Look, I don't know anything, I'm just a delivery boy, okay!? I carry stuff around town 'cuz it looks like I'm just going to school, and I get paid a little bit. But those two jumped out at me, they want what I'm carrying for some reason!"

"Well..." said Roman. "Do you know _what_ you were carrying?"

"Hell no." said Eton. "They told me, my boss told me, never to ask."

"And we don't want to know either." said Snapper.

"What?" Roman asked, looking at his brother. "Yes we do! That way we could figure out how to deal with this!"

"No! _No!_ How we 'deal with this' is that we let it go. This doesn't concern us, and if we make it concern us we'll probably just bring trouble down on ourselves." He took Roman by the shoulder. "Look, Roman, it's better we don't know. This kid could work for someone dangerous, who doesn't want us to know."

Internally, Roman decided that made sense. Whoever Eton worked for was smart enough to make their deliveries look like school commutes, so they could well be serious business. He nodded.

Eton, meanwhile, had sat down in a corner, and was now staring bleakly at the floor, running a hand anxiously through his hair. "I was already overdue. Now I'll never make it in time. She's going to be so pissed..."

Roman returned to Snapper's perch on the divider, craned his neck up, and looked out the window. "They out there?" Snapper asked.

"Can't see 'em."

"Good. Um... we'll wait another minute or two, I guess, and if they haven't come back this way we can leave."

Roman stepped down. "Hey, how'd you know this basement was here, anyway?"

"Been down here before." said Snapper. "Hidden stuff."

"What kinds of stuff?"

"All kinds of stuff. Hey, will you quit blubbering!?" he suddenly demanded of Eton, who was still bemoaning his situation in the corner.

"Hey, this job's all I've got!" the delivery boy retorted. "Even if I dodge those two nutbags, I'm probably going to lose it!"

"Hey..." Roman asked, suddenly looking thoughtful. "...How much does it pay?"

"Not much, but enough to get by. Why?"

Roman rubbed his eye, thinking, while Snapper gave him a concerned look. "Whoah, Roman, what are you thinking about? You're not...?"

"If I finish the delivery for you..." the younger brother said slowly, "we can both explain the problem, and both get paid..."

"What!?" Snapper demanded. "Roman, I thought we _just decided_ that we weren't getting involved!"

"No, we decided not to find out what's in the packages. You and I can deliver them without looking inside."

"What's this 'you and I' crap!? Why am I helping?"

"Without that backpack, I'm gonna need your help carrying these things."

"Wait, wait..." said Eton, blinking as he struggled to keep up, "How does this help me? It sounds like you just want to hijack my pay."

"No, you need us. We can help you explain to your boss what went wrong. If you try on your own, you just seem like you're making an excuse. And we'll need you to vouch for us, otherwise we seem like we just jumped in to, as you said, hijack your pay."

Eton looked down again, his brow knotted as he thought it over. Neither he nor Snapper seemed to have anything to say in the face of the plan, which made for several seconds of quiet in which Roman felt quite satisfied with himself.

"Okay..." said Eton meekly. "So... how does this work?"

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

The bald man and the emaciated woman remained on the prowl for some time; having concluded that the delivery boy they had been after couldn't have gotten far, they were retracing their steps through a certain alley twenty minutes later when they saw him emerging from the shadows up ahead, backpack still equipped. "You!" the bald man hissed in surprise, and Eton took off, running back up the alley as they broke into a sprint after him. Within seconds, all parties involved had vacated the alley, clearing it for the two youngest Torchwick brothers to emerge from the same window, crawling out onto the dirty pavement, their jackets stuffed with the parcels of Eton's delivery.

"Will he be able to get away from them?" Snapper asked skeptically. "We still need his help, don't we?"

"I gave him directions to find the old scrapyard by the train station."

"Oh, that'll work, there's a thousand places to hide in there."

"Exactly. And he repaid me with this;" Roman pulled out a scrap of paper, which he and Snapper both looked at. "This is the address for the meeting place."

"That's pretty far... no wonder he was worried he'd be late."

"Well then," said Roman, putting the scrap away, "We'd better get moving. No time to spare."

The distraction had worked, as the two of them went on their way peacefully for the duration of the journey. They kept up a quick pace to make up for Eton's lost time, alternating between a jog and a fast walk. But the entire way, there was a palpable tension, until Snapper finally voiced his remonstration.

"This was a bad idea, Pup. We shouldn't have gotten involved. Coleman's not going to be happy."

"Yes he is. Also, Coleman's not the boss of me, and _also_ also, don't call me that." Since the incident with the Noir sisters, Roman's older brothers had largely refrained from using the old nickname... though Snapper had not.

"You think he'll be glad you got us wrapped up in this? We could bring all kinds of trouble we already don't need right now... think about Robas and her sisters."

"Exactly. With the extra money... that could help. We might need it. If you don't venture, you don't gain."

Snapper groaned in exasperation. "Would you stop trying to sound wise? If you don't venture, you also don't _die._ Look at this-" He grabbed Roman to stop him, and began rolling up his sleeve. "You remember last year when Cole and I took that trip out to Fisher, right? To that new Dust mine, where he thought we could make enough money to refill our medicine stores?"

Roman knew where this story was going, and wasn't surprised to see the scar on Snapper's arm, as he had seen it before. "Well this isn't the same, is it?"

Snapper kept telling the story. "We both nearly got killed in that cave-in. Decided we'd never try mine work again. Cole admitted it was a stupid risk, and I agree with him."

Roman raised his eyebrows and met his brother's gaze. "Yeah, well, you know what, Snap?"

"What?"

"Our medicine stores are full."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

The meeting place proved to be the parking lot of a dilapidated factory; the brick walls faded and cracked, and most of the windows were either broken or boarded up. It was getting late; there were no stars yet, but the shattered moon hung faint in the sky as the sun dipped low. The surrounding streets and buildings were quiet, save for a crow that sat on a broken street lamp, occasionally cawing its displeasure at some arbitrary thing or another. But none of this bothered the youngest Torchwick brothers, both of whom had long since found themselves inured to any fear of things like darkness and empty buildings. What did rather burn their socks was the fact that no one seemed to be here.

"This is it, right?" Snapper asked, looking up at the crow skeptically. Roman, meanwhile, was taking another look at the scrap of paper Eton had given him, and up to the street signs.

"Definitely... this is abnormal."

They stood in silence for a moment. The crow objected again. "How late are we?" asked Snapper.

"About forty minutes, I think. Maybe more."

"We probably missed the drop window."

Roman sighed. "I guess you're going to suggest we go home now."

 _"Hell_ no, that's an even worse idea," Snapper replied indignantly, looking at Roman. "We have their stuff now. We can't just leave it here unguarded, and-"

"And we can't take it home with us."

"Exactly. Either one would probably get us killed."

Snapper sat down on the curb and ran his hands through his jet black hair, grimacing stressfully. "I don't know what to do with this. I wish Cole were here."

Roman looked up at the sky for a moment, thinking. He reached a conclusion, and sighed heavily. "Then go home."

Snapper looked up at him in surprise. "Wait, what?"

"We need Cole. He'll know what to do here. Run home and get him, or at least Matches, or both, and bring 'em back here. I'll stay with the delivery just in case someone shows up for it, and I'll be here when you get back."

"No! No no no! You are a bad idea _factory_ today! I'm not gonna leave you here to get killed, Cole would kill me dead!"

"He'll kill you deader if there was something he could have done about it and you didn't go get him."

"Screw that, why don't you go!?"

"You'll get home faster, and I'm better at hiding. You need to hurry up and go, chum."

"Roman, this is-"

"SHUT UP AND GO ALREADY!" Roman yelled, causing the crow to take off while the words echoed around the vacant neighborhood. "You're right, Snapper, it's dangerous, and the longer you wait before leaving, the worse it's going to get, so _hurry!"_

Snapper seemed half-committed to doing as he was told, getting to his feet and backing out of the lot. "I don't think we should... ah, hell..." At last, he turned and sprinted from the lot, running off down the side street. Roman watched him go, getting gradually more and more distant until he rounded a corner and was gone. Taking a deep breath, the boy sat down on the same stretch of curb to wait.

When he had sent Snapper away, it seemed like a good idea. Ten minutes later, it ceased to. Roman found himself, despite his prior boldness, growing increasingly nervous; as the shadows grew longer, each one began to look like danger could leap from it at any moment. He was able to reinforce his courage slightly by picking up and pocketing a large shard of broken glass he found near the building to use as a makeshift weapon just in case, but even so the isolation and cold continued to creep in on him. He was painstakingly aware of how alone he was... until he wasn't.

Finally, Roman saw a woman standing on the opposite end of the parking lot, staring at him. He didn't see her walk up; he had simply been looking at the ground, thinking, and when he looked up, she was there. He shot to a stand, hastily pulling out the shard and holding it up threateningly. The woman was tall, dark-skinned and yellow-eyed, with short hair and a dark blue coat over a black outfit with yellow trim. She was looking at him in silence, a sly smile on her face.

"Who are you!?" Roman demanded, his words echoing in the night. In hindsight, he wished he had sounded less panicked.

"Who are _you?"_ she parroted back.

"I asked first!"

"Nooooo..." she pulled out a pistol and pointed it at him. "I'm pretty sure I did."

Roman went pale. He'd been committing crimes since he could spell, and had faced beatings, run from the cops, and nearly been stabbed. But this was the first time he'd ever found himself at gunpoint. He had always imagined himself cool and calm in the face of a gun barrel, but to his dismay, his immediate response was to drop his weapon, raise his hands, and back away, his heartbeat seemingly doubling in speed. He desperately wished Coleman was here. "I'm Roman Torchwick." he said without hesitation. "Eton ran into trouble and sent me to finish his delivery." The woman didn't say anything at first, or even move. But her eyes flickered; Roman thought he could see the gears turning in her head.

"Say your last name again," she said.

"Torchwick?"

"Hm. So what kind of trouble did Eton run into?"

"Two... crazy people. Me and my brother helped him get away."

"And?"

"And... we were going to meet up here, to make the delivery."

"Where's your brother?"

"He's looking for Eton." Roman wasn't quite sure why he said that; a lot of things were going through his mind right now, but he was pretty sure there was something in there about her shooting him if she thought reinforcements were coming.

"How long?" the woman continued.

"W... what?"

" _How long ago did he leave?"_

"Um... ten minutes I think."

The woman lowered the gun, slightly, and turned her head to look around. Her expression was unreadable. Roman considered running, but everything around him was open and empty. His aura wasn't strong enough for serious combat; he doubted he could survive more than a couple shots. Her gun arm went taught again as she zeroed back in on him. "You're a good liar. Better than someone your age would usually be. But you're still a liar. I don't know about what, but it looks more like you jumped Eton, took his package, and brought it here to get paid instead."

"No! I-"

"I'm still talking. I've heard of you and your brothers. You live down in Little Mistral, you're just purse-snatchers. This is the kind of thing you would do. You noticed his route, you attacked him, you forced him to tell you where the meeting was. Tell me I'm wrong."

"That's not what happened!" Roman insisted. He'd gotten away with many lies before, and was frustrated that this one time he needed someone to believe him also happened to be when he was telling the truth. Thankfully, that must have shown in some way, as the woman seemed to hesitate, biting her lip in thought.

"Hm." she said again. "Well, I guess we'll see when Eton shows." Roman breathed a sigh of relief. Even though he had lied about Snapper searching for him, he still knew the delivery boy was on his way. "Where is it?" she continued, causing him to look at her in confusion.

"Where... is it?"

 _"The delivery,_ kid."

"Oh, right! There." he pointed to a nearby dumpster, underneath which he and Snapper had hidden the packets. She nodded silently, lowered the gun, and stood waiting.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

A lot of rather harrowing thoughts passed through Roman's head to the general intention of what would happen to him if Eton didn't show; the woman's relaxed nature cautioned him that she could still kill him with ease, even with the gun sheathed. Thankfully, he only had to be haunted by those thoughts for another few minutes before the curly-haired boy emerged from the shadows and ran to the parking lot. "Eton." said the woman calmly. "Nice of you to show. Where's the older Torchwick brother?"

"Huh?" Eton asked as he slid to a stop before her. "Not with me."

The woman looked at Roman with a smile and a piercing gaze; she had sniffed out his lie, but said nothing. Instead, she simply changed the subject. "Well this one here told me a tale. Why don't you give me yours?"

Eton retold the story of how he had been ambushed by the two junkies, and blundered into the two Torchwicks. He recounted how Snapper had gotten them to a safe hiding place, and how Roman had come up with the plan to get the delivery to her. He further recounted how he had followed Roman's plan, losing his pursuers in the junkyard and taking an out-of-the-way route to stop them finding him again. By the end of the story, the woman was still gazing unreadably at Roman.

"So." she said at last, once the fable was over. "So. You both brought me the delivery. Three of you, in fact. I'm not paying three kids for one delivery."

Roman tried to think of something to say; he didn't want to come home to his brothers empty-handed, not after all this. He was spared having to say anything, though, by Eton.

"Neither of us ever would have gotten the package here without the others. I wouldn't've, and they wouldn't've been able to convince you. I... think."

She thought for a moment. "I guess these Torchwicks could be considered... freelancers. An agency. Eton, I'll pay you a full share. Roman, I'll pay you a full share, too. That's _one_ full share, for you and your brother. No more. Understand?"

"Yes ma'am." Being respectful sounded like a good idea. The woman pulled a finely-crafted wallet out of her coat and opened it while instructing Eton.

"Eton, go get the parcels and bring them here. They're under there."

Roman watched as Eton did as he was bid, retrieving the packages and bringing them back to her in an armful. She withdrew some money, and handed it to him, before taking the parcels in kind and stowing them in her coat. Eton didn't hang around; with his money pocketed, he jogged straight off to a side street and left.

The woman walked up to Roman and handed him an equal amount of cash. He made to turn and follow Eton's lead.

"Hang on there, kid." She said. He stopped. He looked up at her. "Your name's Roman?" she asked. He nodded. "You're not bad at this. It looks like you can deal with complications, even some my others can't. And you're school age, like them. You want a job?"

"Yes." he said, without missing a beat.

"That's good, because I want to give you one. Do you need to ask your older brother's permission to accept one?

 _Yes,_ he thought. "No," he said.

"My name's Sitruuna. If you want to be one of my delivery boys, meet me here, tomorrow, five 'o clock. I don't have time to orient you now."

"Okay."

She maintained her unreadable gaze. "Just so you know, I work for Poppa Gold."

Roman didn't find that news surprising. "Okay." he repeated.

"You work for him too now."

"I understand."

"Do you know who that is?"

Saying 'Vale's most powerful crime boss, who has ruled unopposed for twenty years' rung as a bad idea in Roman's mind, so he said, "A powerful businessman."

"Good boy. Alright, see you tomorrow." And without another word said, she just whirled around and strode off. Roman watched her until she was out of view, then looked down at the money in his hands and smiled. It was a start.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Coleman and Snapper Torchwick found their younger brother sitting calmly next to the old building that night, holding his jacket tightly against the cold. "About time." Roman said. "I was waiting for you two to find me before I left, so you didn't spend all nigh-"

"Shut up." said Coleman seriously, a concerned look on his face. "Tell me what happened." Roman raised his eyebrows, and then held up the money for him to see without a word. Cole looked at it for a moment, then back at Roman. He shrugged questioningly.

"Got a job." said the youngest simply.

"A job? Doing what exactly?"

"Delivering."

"Delivering _what?"_

"Don't know. But it's for a woman named Sitruuna. She-"

"Works for Poppa Gold."

Roman and Coleman looked at each other in silence for a moment. Snapper just looked back and forth between them, his hands wriggling restlessly in his pockets. Finally, Cole smiled, stepped forward, and sat down next to his brother. He put an arm around Roman's shoulders. "The pay will help. Good job. But you should have asked me first."

"You ain't the boss of me." Roman said.

"Yes I am." Cole replied with a tone of finality. "You've forgotten what we talked about the other day, when I taught you about pickpocketing."

"You mean when I met Contor. You told me not to shoot too high. I'm just a delivery boy, Cole."

"I know. But we've gotta be careful. You're putting us on Poppa Gold's chessboard. So you're not taking any deliveries alone, not until I know it's safe. Now, Matches and I are pretty busy these days, so..."

Snapper interjected. "Hell, I'll take the little bastard, Cole, you only had to ask."

Cole smiled up at him. "Thanks, bastard."

"Any time, bastard."

"You're both bastards," added Roman with a grin. "But okay, I'll drag him along."

"All I'm asking." said Coleman. "It won't be forever, just the first few weeks. You can tell your new tall, dark and beautiful boss that we won't require any additionally pay for the shadowing."

"I think she'll like that."

"Oh, I know she will. I've only met Sitruuna twice, but she's... memorable." He stood up. "Alright, enough business talk, you penniless punks, let's go home and celebrate Roman's good fortune."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Sitruuna strode down the sidewalk later that night, her eyes and hands on her scroll. A lot of people would be nervous passing alone through this neighborhood this late at night, but she liked her chances. So rather than focus on paranoia, she simply kept working. She was in the midst of sending out a text to request a pickup when she unexpectedly recieved one herself:

-Where are you? Need to talk. -T

She hastily replied with her address. A moment later.

-On my way. -T

She had to admire his punctuality, as a limousine pulled up to her only three minutes after she recieved the text and began her vigil on the street corner. She opened the door with confidence and wasted no time climbing into the vehicle, the inside of which was much warmer than the night air. She took her seat in the back of the limo, and calmly looked across at Contor Trix, who sat staring back at her from behind his shades. With her settled, he reached up and knocked gently on the glass partition, signaling the driver to get moving. Sitruuna and Contor stared at each other as the car glided away.

"Where have you been all evening?" Contor asked, getting straight to the point.

"Just some delivery stuff that ran over. It's already been handled." Sitruuna said. She frowned. "I didn't miss something important, did I?"

Contor didn't say anything for a moment, just stared. Son, he reached up to remove his sunglasses, and looked at her with his copper-colored eyes. "Delara's dead."

"Wait, _what!?_ She's _dead?_ How!?"

"Murdered. Captain Oxys is still working on the Who and Why."

"Christ... is the money still going to be moved on time?"

Contor gave Sitruuna a bitter smiled. "Not even going to ask how her wife's holding up?"

"Business first, Tricks. We need to talk about the money."

"Not yet we don't. Poppa's meeting everyone at midnight, it can be discussed there."

Sitruuna sighed, and looked out the window. "Well, this should make for an interesting quarterly review."

AN: Well, this one didn't quite come out as long as I'd envisioned, but oh well. Anyway, with the RWBY hiatus back on, you can expect more of this, more of My Pretty, and some new projects. Please remember to leave a review, they help motivate me.


	4. V1 - Icarus, Chapter 4

Volume 1 - Icarus

Chapter 4 - Like Hell

The following weeks proved to be some of the most profitable the Torchwick brothers had ever seen. After they had finally finished moving the last of the apples, word had gotten around Little Mistral about Coleman's expert handling of the deals, and the brothers had been hired once or twice to help "acquire" merchandise. More prominantly, though, Roman and Snapper's delivery runs had consistantly gone well, as the brothers' excellent understanding of the neighbourhood's layout made them Sitruuna's fastest and most efficient runners. They had been expecting her to be more impressed, but the stalwart woman treated them like all the others.

"I think I might ask her for a raise." Roman said one overcast afternoon as the two of them cut across a park wearing backpacks.

"You think she'll give it to you?" Snapper asked.

"No. But I should ask anyway, right?"

"Hm. Maybe wait until you think it'll actually work. Otherwise you'll just annoy her."

"Good point." Roman admitted. Thinking back to how he first met his new boss, he decided that she wasn't one to agitate.

"Hey, she seem extra stressed to you lately?" Snapper asked. "I mean, poor little Davis was only like two minutes late the other day, and Sitruuna really went off on him."

"Not a lot to go on, is it?"

"I s'pose not..."

Crossing out of the park, they noticed a dumpster with a strange rustling noise inside. Roman and Snapper exchanged a glance, sharing a suspicion about the culprit. "Is that Little Mistral's least favorite dumpster diver?" Snapper called.

"The nuisance so bad even the racoons keep an eye out?" Roman continued. The noise stopped, and the culprit's head popped out of the container: a girl, about Snapper's age, bald and dirty, with a faded hazel bandanna (which she frequently insisted was bright green) covering her mouth. She pulled the mask down and smiled at the duo through several missing teeth.

"Little and littlest, the Torchwicks Tiny! Bein' busybodies?" Cleaver asked.

The two didn't stop walking as they talked. "Bein' paid, unlike some," said Roman, which made both his brother and Cleaver smile. "How about you, Cleaver?"

She held up a rusted metal flask. "Pickings are good! Heard about the great apple caper; you boys should try canned foods sometime. Last longer, way more profit."

"Bitch, canned foods don't just roll into town every day!" said Snapper.

"You'd be surprised! So whatcha carryin'?"

"None of your business," said Roman. "None of ours, for that matter."

"Yeah... but tell me anyway!"

"Goodbye, Cleaver," said Snapper, as they passed her dumpster and left her behind.

"Alright, well, later!" she called after them. "YOU GOT MY NUMBER! WE'LL DO BRUNCH, MAYBE SNEAK INTO A STRIPCLUB!" They rounded the corner, and she switched to muttering to herself. "Punk-ass little pricks..." she looked down, and beamed as she saw something.

"Ooh, shampoo!"

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

More weeks went by. Roman gained the courage to begin sneaking around Colza's again for their dalliances; his brief absence had only made her more keen to see him and hear his stories. Roman had worried it would be more difficult after the encounter with her father, but the increase in security amounted to little more than a stronger lock installed on the window; apparently, Mr. Price considered his princess to be little more than a victim of the miscreant who had manipulated and seduced her. Roman and Colza shared a laugh at that.

"So... you don't even know what the two of you are carrying!?" Colza whispered loudly one night. She and Roman sat cross-legged on opposite ends of her bed, seeing each other only by the light of a single candle.

"No, but I have my guesses," he whispered back. "Certainly something dangerous."

"Roman... that's terrifying!" she said. She didn't look terrified, though. She looked awed.

Roman decided to play it up. "Well... that's just my life. Could end any minute. I try not to get scared."

She smiled. "You know I can tell when you're trying to impress me, right? I'm not a fool."

"Doesn't mean it's not working!"

She giggled at that.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

It wasn't long after that when Snapper's absence forced Roman's plans to change somewhat. With the black-haired Torchwick brother off buying materials from Cleaver, it was up to Matches to escort Roman on his delivery. Roman stepped outside the shack, buttoning up his blazer against a relatively cool morning to find Matches leaning again the outside wall, arms folded.

"I'm ready," said Roman. Matches simply nodded. Roman stood awkwardly for a moment before realizing that his older brother obviously meant for him to lead the way. He set off, and Matched followed in silence.

After they went about retrieving the package (held in a backpack donned by Roman), they set off for the meeting place. It wasn't much different from a normal run, just... quieter. Roman and Snapper talked and joked when they did the deliveries; there was much less of that with Matches. For the most part, he simply stared ahead with an inscrutable expression on his face, his only means of making conversation to ask brief, direct questions about where they were going.

This hardly surprised Roman. Of the two older Torchwick brothers, Matches had always been more of a mystery. Coleman was the charismatic leader, and a teacher to both Roman and Snapper, but Matches never spoke of himself much. He would vanish from the homestead for long stretches at a time, always doing business for the family, and he would engage with the others when they were all together, sharing in jokes and fun - roughhousing with Snapper after the heist, for instance - but he never seemed to do anything of his own. Roman knew of no girlfriends, boyfriends, hangouts, or pass-times to vie for space in Matches' busy schedule.

As the two passed a large, grey-brick factory that Roman had passed on most mornings, Matches suddenly grabbed Roman's shoulder, stopping him.

Roman looked up to see Matches looking ahead, at a pair of men standing near the factory's entrance, some fifty feet ahead. The men wore simple clothes and were talking to each other; one was blonde, the other bald. Matches narrowed his eyes.

"Something wrong?" Roman asked.

"Stay close," Matches grumbled.

They started walking again, and the two men looked to them as they approached. They stepped out onto the sidewalk, blocking the Torchwick's path.

"Mornin' friend!" said the blonde, smiling at Matches. "Where you headed?"

Matches and Roman stopped before them. "Just taking my little brother to school," Matches replied, gesturing to Roman. Roman gave his best smile.

"Aw, sweet," said the bald one. "Backpack full of books, then? School supplies?"

"Sure is," said Roman, narrowing his eyes. "Why do you wanna know?"

Bald smiled at the younger brother while blonde kept his eyes on the older. "I just want to be certain you're not carrying anything you shouldn't. Would hate to have you-"

SMACK

Roman blinked in surprise; Matches had lashed out with a meaty fist and punched the blonde man right in the face. The thug's head snapped to the side from the force of the strike, and he blinked stupidly while taking a couple clumsy steps backwards; there was no question that his lights had been flickered good. Bald jumped back in surprise, reaching behind himself and fumbling around the back of his belt for a moment before drawing a pistol. Matches reached out with both hands: with one, he grabbed his little brother, pulling Roman behind himself protectively, while with the other, he grabbed the concussed blonde man by the collar, pulling him in between them and the now-armed man.

"Let him go!" yelled bald, taking aim. He couldn't fire, however; his partner, still dazed and off-balance from the hit, was in the way, his head rolling around a bit while Matches clung tightly to his collar.

Not unlike the punch-drunk blonde man, Roman was almost too shocked to act; everything was unfolding very fast. From behind Matches, he could hear the armed one yelling. While his brain struggled to keep up with the situation, Matches made a move. Still holding onto the blonde's collar, he grabbed his belt and, growling with rage, lifted the man's entire body off the ground. As he hefted Blonde above his head, Bald's eyes widened in surprise, before he began shooting; Matches was exposed now, after all.

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Roman as Bald opened fire on his brother. He only managed to fire two shots, earning bright red flashes from Matches' Aura, before Matches threw Blonde, sending him crashing into Bald and stopping the attack as both of them flew back, skidding across the sidewalk.

Matches breathed heavily from the exertion, and the two men barely stirred; they weren't getting up soon. Roman held his ears, which rang from the shots. "Damn!" was all he could say. Everything had happened so quickly; his heart was beating extremely fast, and he was still having trouble reconciling everything that had just occurred. "...What was that about!?"

"I knew something didn't shake as soon as I saw them," said Matches.

"Were they after the delivery!?" Roman wondered aloud, bewildered. Out of startled paranoia, he began looking around. "But how would they even- MATCHES, LOOK OUT!"

He had pointed just in time. Matches looked up at the opposite roof from the factory and raised his arm to protect his head at the very last second before an arrow flew down at him from on high. His Aura crackled and faded as the arrow punched straight through his forearm, impaling him. The arrowhead stopped just inches away from his eye, where it would have landed had he not raised his arm.

"ARGH!" Matches snarled, as blood dripped from both the entry and exit wounds. He lowered his arm and glared at the shooter: Sek Noir, who was crouched on the roof, holding a crossbow. Her wild, frizzy hair and dark outfit were instantly recognizable. She began to reload calmly. Matches wasted no time, swiping up one of the guns from the ground with one bloody hand from the injured arm, while using his other hand to grab Roman and pull him towards the factory entrance.

He shouldered through the doors, barging into the factory. It looked as Roman expected; symmetrical production lines organized around an open floor in a massive, well-lit room, much of the light coming from huge windows on the ceiling. The workers were scattered around the room, all wearing white aprons and facemasks. They were already hesitating and looking at the door in apprehension; clearly, they had heard the shots outside. Matches let go of Roman, switched the gun to that hand, held it up, and fired two shots at the ceiling (barely missing the glass).

The shots rang loudly across the factory floor, and were enough to panic the workers, who screamed and shouted, and began running for various exits, all desperate to escape the big, scary, bloody man with the gun. As they fled, Matches put the gun in his belt and grabbed Roman again, pulling him across the floor. "Hey!" Roman said, now slightly annoyed. "I can walk, you know!"

Most of the workers were gone by the time Matches kicked open a door at the far end of the floor, revealing a dimly lit closet full of mostly janitorial supplies - mops, carts, shelves of cleaning supplies and the like. A white first-aid kit was starkly visible at the back. Matches handed Roman the gun, which he took with surprise, looking at it in his hands as though it were a live scorpion. "Watch the door," said Matches simply, closing it behind him. "Shoot Sek if she comes in."

"Um... okay." Taking a nervous breath, Roman turned to the door and raised the pistol, aiming at it. His hand was visibly shaking; he had never brandished a gun before, and he had certainly never shot anyone.

Matches tore the kit off the wall and sat down on a bucket, opening the kit on his leg. He hesitated, looking up at Roman, who was still aiming at the door with a slackened grip, sweating noticeably. Matches sighed. "Tighten your grip, Roman. Finger near the trigger, but careful not to fire until you mean to. Breathe."

"Right..." Roman took another breath, steadier this time, and did as his older brother said.

"That's not good advice in general," Matches continued. "Normally, you keep your finger _off_ the trigger until it's time to shoot. This is an exception."

"Because Sek could come through the door at any second. Got it."

Without saying another word, Matches grabbed the bloody arrowhead sticking out of his arm and roughly broke it off with a _snap,_ gritting his teeth against the pain. Roman tried not to focus on that, and considered his own task, remembering something he had heard on the street once.

"It's three shots for Aura, right? That's what I've heard."

"That's wrong." Matches' voice was surprisingly level considering what he was doing to himself. "There's no consistent number. It depends on personal Aura strength and weapon caliber. Don't try to count shots, you'll just distract yourself. Keep shooting until you see that flash."

"Right..." Roman was about to say more, but was cut off by Matches' grunt of pain as he slid the arrow's shaft out of himself, splattering blood on the floor as he did. Roman suddenly became oddly aware of how dry his mouth was. Matches began disinfecting the wound. "...Your Aura will heal that, right?"

"Takes time."

Roman kept focusing on the door as Matches wrapped bandages around his forearm. His mind was settling from the surprise of everything that had happened now, and he was beginning to think through their situation somewhat better. "Matches, the cops will be coming, right?"

"Takes time," Matches repeated. "We have a few minutes to prepare and ambush Sek before they get here."

Roman narrowed his eyes, thinking the sequence of events through carefully. "So the Noir Sisters wanted to steal our delivery. Sek finds out our route and decides to ambush us, and she hires a couple goons to help..."

Matches didn't say anything. Roman continued. "She's waiting to snipe us from on high... she sees your Aura get damaged and figures she can punch through what's left of it and drop you... wait, she would have heard the shots as soon as we went in, right?" Matches still didn't say anything, because he didn't need to. The answer was obvious. "...Crap," said Roman, lowering the gun. "We need to go, now."

"Explain," Matches rumbled, now finished with his bandages.

"Sek isn't coming and we can't ambush her. She may be a Faunus, but she's not _that_ stupid. She knows this place will be crawling in cops soon, and she knows there's a chance we'll get nabbed. She's probably already retreating. If we want to catch her, we need to leave as fast as possible."

"And we _do_ want to catch her," Matches added. "We still don't know how the Noirs knew about our heist."

"Or our delivery route, for that matter, though they might have just seen me and Snapper."

"Alright, let's go," said Matches, moving the door and opening it slightly to peek outside. He left, and Roman followed across the empty factory, still carrying the gun.

"You think we can still catch her in time?" he asked.

"If not, she'll hopefully see us leave."

"...And follow us, knowing we got away. We'll have another chance to ambush her."

"Exactly."

Matches shouldered back out through the doors they had come in through, deliberately hitting them forcefully enough to make a loud CLANG that echoed through the alleyway. He looked up, quickly scanning the rooftops for Sek; there was no sign of her. He stepped outside, and Roman followed, only to be suddenly struck hard in the back by something. Roman yelled and was thrown forward by the impact, falling roughly to his knees. It was good that his Aura was active, otherwise the crossbow bolt that had just skewered his backpack would have impaled him as well.

Matches and Roman both turned to look; the bolt was connected by a long rope to Sek Noir's crossbow; she stood in the middle of the factory floor some fifty feet away, still holding the weapon, which had some kind of winch device attached to the side. She triggered it, and the rope began to reel in, roughly pulling Roman onto his back and dragging him across the concrete floor at a high speed.

"NO!" Bellowed Matches, charging at Sek. Roman thought quickly; realizing that Sek could and likely would kill him at close range, he pulled his arms out of the pack, allowing it to be carried away without him. It quickly flew back to Sek, who caught it just as Matches passed Roman and ran at her. Smiling, she turned and ran into the factory, shouldering through another door as Matches followed.

"Matches!" yelled Roman. He got to his feet as quickly as he could, but Sek and Matches were already out of view. He hurried after.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Roman emerged from the other end of the factory frustrated. He burst out of the door into a large, sunny parking lot overlooked by dull office buildings, placing his hands on his hips. He had lost track of Matches and Sek inside the factory, and with them going ahead, he had no idea how to find his older brother again.

However, just as he was chewing his lip and staring at the ground, trying to figure out what to do and mentally kicking himself over losing the delivery, he noticed a small drop of something red on the pavement. He knelt down to get a better look. It was blood. "Matches?" he wondered aloud. A few feet ahead, he saw another drop, just as tiny. He smiled as he put it together in his head; Matches had undone his bandages, just slightly, to leave a trail for Roman to follow while not losing Sek.

"Clever," he said, before hearing the distinct sound of an approaching siren. Deciding to linger no more, he set off after the blood trail at a sprint.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Roman finally found Matches in front of an old house on the edge of Little Mistral, staring up at it. It was about three stories tall, and clearly abandoned: it had faded, peeling purple paint and several boarded-up windows. Ivy grew on some parts of the walls, snaking it's way through old cracks. "Hey," said Roman, approaching. "Where's Sek?"

"In there," said Matches, without looking away from the house. He began tightening his bandages again, stopping the steady drip of blood that came from his arm. "She has nowhere to run. Still has the pack. I saw her go straight to the second story with that bow of hers; she can use it as a grapple gun."

"Your arm healing yet?" Roman asked, looking at the house.

"Sure as anything. Still have that gun?"

"Sure as anything." He held it out, offering it to Matches.

"Keep it. I'll do better with my fists, and you need practice. Let's get her."

Roman looked down at the gun uncertainly for a moment, before tightening his grip on it and nodding. "Ready when you are, big guy."

Side by side, the two brothers started up the overgrown steps towards the house. Matches opened the door, and they entered a dark, dusty entry hall, large and cavernous with missing floorboards, moth-chewed furniture and the remains of a once-grand chandelier scattered around the floor. Second-floor balconies overlooked the hall, with stairs at the back leading up to them. Roman raised the gun, holding it with both hands while Matches moved forward. They proceeded towards the stairs as quietly as they could, Matches in front and Roman behind, his eyes skinned against the shadows.

Though they both grimaced at how much the stairs creaked as they moved up, they were otherwise able to reach the second floor without incident. And so the search began, with the two brothers stalking through ancient, moldy corridors and bedrooms where animals had been nesting, on the lookout for a Faunus with a bad attitude.

At a certain point, Matches stopped dead outside a new room, and Roman did the same. Listening, they could both hear talking from inside. It was hard to tell, so they both crept closer, as quietly as they could.

It was definitely Sek. "Sis, they're right on me, I don't have twenty-five minutes." There was no answer, but after a moment, she spoke again. "Yes, the one on the edge of the neighborhood." Matches looked over his shoulder at Roman and met his eye, an understanding passing between them: she was talking on a scroll. Distracted. Matches nodded, and Roman nodded back. Without a word, Matches turned back to the door and charged.

Sek was already dropping the scroll and turning as he shouldered through the door into the old, dusty bedroom. She was crouched near the window, and raised the crossbow to fire. Matches changed direction almost immediately, diving for cover behind the bed as the bolt passed near him and hit the opposite wall. Roman came to the doorway; he had a clear shot.

He hesitated, just for a second, his breath catching. As he finally fired, Sek turned and leapt out the window, grabbing the frame and swinging herself around to cling to the wall outside. It was much too late; the round missed her completely, the sound and kick catching Roman off guard. He stumbled back a few steps, and Sek was gone.

Matches stood, looking at the window, and then at Roman. He raised an eyebrow. Roman looked down, too embarrassed to meet his eye. "...Flinched. Won't happen again."

Matches didn't say anything. Roman waited; at any moment, he expected Matches to take the gun and send him home.

"Upstairs," Matches finally said, walking past Roman and leaving the room. Roman sighed in relief, turning to leave... before turning back, running over to grab the scroll Sek had dropped, and following his brother.

They hurried now, running for the stairs. They could hear creaking from above; Sek was running too, likely searching for an escape. Reaching a staircase and taking it three steps at a time, they made good time in their pursuit. In no time, they caught another glimpse of her, rounding a corner at the end of a hallway. Cutting through an old sitting room allowed them to close the distance, and they burst out into another hall just in time as she wheeled around to shoot.

Both brothers ducked out of reflex as the bolt embedded in the wooden wall with a THUD. True to his word, Roman didn't hesitate: he raised the pistol and fired, the shot hitting Sek and causing her Aura to surge black. Before he could fire again, Matches yelled furiously, and charged, fists clenched and swinging.

Sek was fast - she fell back out of the way of the strikes and rolled through another doorway, forcing Matches to follow her in; with him so close, Roman dared not fire again, but ran in after them. In only took him seconds to cross the threshold, but by that point the room was already in chaos; once a bedroom, now consumed in clouds of dust and flying splinters as Matches and Sek fought.

Matches knew how to use his superior size; he threw himself around, bellowing with every attack and launching his fists with enough power to demolish the furniture (not to mention the crossbow, which lay in two halves on the floor), while Sek ducked and rolled and dodged every would-be attack. She pulled a familiar dagger, but Matches saw it in time and quickly changed tactics, falling backwards and holding his arms up defensively. Sek's eyes darted to Roman; she wasn't a fool, and she knew that the only reason he hadn't gunned her down was her proximity to Matches. So she closed the distance again, moving in quickly.

Now, however, it was Roman's turn to change tactics: as she swiped at Matches and he blocked, Roman put the gun in his belt and jumped into the fray, tackling Sek and reaching for the knife. He managed to grab it by the blade, straining his Aura but successfully pulling it away. Unfortunately, this didn't provide as much of an advantage as he had hoped; lion-like claws sprung from Sek's fingers, and she continued fighting. "Oh, come on!" Roman yelled, now battling with the gun in one hand and dagger in the other.

Despite the claws coming out, it still wasn't long before the brothers regained the upper hand; several successful blows from Matches' fists, and a swipe from the knife drained Sek's black Aura severely, and she finally turned to flee again. As she bolted for the window, they could see why she had chosen this room in particular: right outside was the wall of an opposite building, only ten feet away. An easy escape.

Sek jumped through the window frame as Roman raised the pistol again and squeezed off another shot, finally taking out her Aura completely in a surge of black energy. Still, she was moving: she bared her claws and leapt across the narrow alley outside, digging into the brick wall opposite. Her claws scraped little trenches into the brick, and she slid several feet down before coming to a stop. Now, she clung to the wall like a squirrel climbing a tree.

Still, Roman had her. He went to the window, and raised the gun. It was almost over, until Sek did the unexpected: in one quick motion, she detached one arm from the wall, slid off the backpack, and held it out over the alley, glaring right into Roman's eyes. He stopped moving, just as Matches came to his side. The threat was clear to both of them: if Sek was shot, the pack would fall three stories, and the delivery could be lost or destroyed.

Several tense, silent seconds passed, with Roman and Sek holding each other's gazes uncertainly. Finally, Sek did the only thing she could to save herself: she threw the pack, not quite far enough to reach the window. "NO!" Yelled Roman, suddenly dropping the gun to reach out and grab it. He caught the pack, barely, but the weapon fell into the alley, clattering on the ground below.

Sek scrambled up the wall and onto the roof, and was gone. They had lost her. Roman pulled the backpack into the room. "I got it..." he said, looking down at the delivery in his arms. He was aware of Matches looking down at him. "...I could have shot her, but I got the pack. Did I make the right choice?"

He looked up at Matches. "Can't say," rumbled Matches. "But you did the best you could." He patted Roman on the shoulder, and Roman sighed in relief. One way or another, the insane chase was over. He walked over to the dusty, splinter-covered bed and sat down, pulling out the scroll he had picked up from Sek and dialing.

"I'm calling Sitruuna. Gonna let her know what happened and ask her to come pick up the delivery."

"Cole too," added Matches.

"Yeah, good idea."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Roman and Matches sat on the front steps of the old mansion, waiting. Roman held the backpack in his lap; he had since abandoned the gun, and now cradled the pack protectively with his arms. As they sat in silence, a car slid up in front of the property. Both of the back doors opened. It was unsurprising to them that Sitruuna stepped out of one; it was more surprising that Coleman stepped out of the other. Both approached the house.

"Look who I happened to find on the way here," Sitruuna said dryly, jerking a thumb at Cole.

"You guys okay?" Cole asked, hurrying ahead to get to them. Matches and Roman both looked at each other, and then nodded at Coleman.

"First thing's first and second thing's second," said Sitruuna, cutting off any more pleasantries. "Give me the delivery, kindly, along with an explanation for what happened, and I'll pay you what you're owed."

Matches remained silent while Roman brought Sitruuna and Coleman up to speed, Coleman's brow furrowing for much of the story while Sitruuna's expression remained an enigma. "Noirs," she finally said, once the tale was done. "It's my understanding that this isn't the first time they've given you trouble."

"You ain't fibbing," said Cole.

Sitruuna pulled out her wallet and began sorting lien. "This is the second time a delivery has met trouble while involving you, Roman. You get a half share for letting the cat run off with the bag..."

Roman looked down at the cement in furious disappointment.

"...but a full extra share for fighting like hell to get it back," she continued. "That's one and a half shares. Good job, kid."

Roman looked up in surprise, slowly smiling as she handed him the money. She tousled his hair with a slight smile of her own before turning and walking back towards her car. "You boys need a lift?"

"We can walk," said Coleman. "Thank you, Sitruuna."

"Wow..." muttered Roman as she climbed back into the car. "I'm not sure I'll ever get a read on her..."

After she was gone, the three Torchwicks set off for home. Coleman hung back a bit to speak to Matches, while Roman hurried ahead. He looked happy with himself, clutching the money in his pocket.

"Hell of a thing," said Cole. "How was he?"

"Handled himself well. He can shoot, Cole."

"Good. The Noirs have been coming after us worse lately... I don't know what the hell's going through Robas' head. But we should probably all be ready."


	5. V1 - Icarus, Chapter 5

Volume 1 - Icarus  
Chapter 5 - The King and the Shade

"Wanna make some extra money?"

Roman and Snapper looked up at Eton from their cards after he spoke. They both sat in somewhat old, moth-eaten armchairs across from each other and divided by a small table, in an old room that had once been some kind of rec room. Most of Sitruuna's couriers were in here now, resting from their routes as she counted out supplies in the next room.

Most of the boys were sitting cross-legged on the old pool table in a circle, loudly betting on dice; based on the low tone that Eton spoke with, Roman reasoned that he was counting on that noise so he wouldn't be overheard.  
"Come again?" Snapper asked.

"Money, friend! I have a _score_ lined up!"  
Roman made a conscious effort not to smile. He generally thought of Eton as naïve and childish, so hearing the boy trying to use criminal slang was a bit funny, not unlike watching a kid try on his father's clothes. Still, he decided it would be unfair not to humor him.  
"What's the score?"

Smiling, Eton sat down near the chairs and began to speak. "My cousin found out about it and told me!" he whispered. He craned his head around to look at the entire room, unknowingly making a big show of trying not to be overheard. Roman and Snapper couldn't help but exchange a bemused look. "There's a place, like an office, just east of Little Mistral. My cuz' is the janitor, and he says there's a safe with all kinds of nice stuff in it! Gold! They keep it unlocked on Fridays, because a courier comes to take it away, but the guy who owns the office is never there at the time!"

Eton excitedly reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, white card with a silver strip on the side. "And _I_ got his spare key!"  
Snapper frowned uncertainly. "I'll be honest as I can stand, Eton. This sounds like a fool's errand. Too good to be true."  
Roman considered what Eton was saying. While nothing about the story sounded too farfetched (and he knew that janitors usually had universal access, so that part at least checked out), he simply didn't trust Eton to have thought everything through.

"Come on, guys!" Eton whined. "This is a good gig! We can walk right in, take the valuables, and walk right out!" He looked at Roman. "Don't tell me you're not in on this, Ro!"  
"Come on, don't be a pest," said Roman. "I'll tell you what, we'll run it past our big brother, Cole. See how it shakes with him."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Not long after dark, Roman and Snapper entered the main room of the Torchwick homestead to find their older brothers busy: Matches was putting on his nice jacket, while Coleman knelt in front of a small dresser, putting a scroll in a drawer. It was the same drawer they kept stolen scrolls they had picked in. "Brought in some loot?" Snapper asked.  
"And heading back out," Cole replied, shutting the drawer. He stood up and took his own finest jacket off the top of the dresser. "We're meeting with some important people." He slid the jacket on.

Roman looked up, intrigued. "What's the game?"  
Cole looked back at him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether to tell him. "Tricks is meeting with a few low-levels. Just trying to make sure everyone's staying in their lanes."  
"You should bring us!" Roman said excitedly.  
"Yeah!" Added Snapper. "Let me grab my blazer!"

Cole shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea. Just let us handle this, Fox and Wolf."  
Roman scowled, exchanging a look with Snapper. "What, you think we'll screw it up?"  
"It would present the wrong image," said Matches. "We need to give the appearance of taking this seriously. It's not a family outing."  
"You don't play around when it involves Poppa Gold's people," said Coleman, nodding. "Don't worry, you two will have your days in the sun. Every Torchwick will, or I'll be damned to the Grimm. But it isn't now."

Roman didn't feel satisfied, but he could tell the conversation was over, so he sat on the couch and hushed up while Snapper leaned against the wall. "Alright, we're off like a dirty shirt," said Cole. "You two enjoy all the expensive parfaits in the fridge."  
"...We don't have a fridge," said Snapper.  
"'Zactly." The eldest brothers opened the door and left, shutting it behind them and leaving Roman and Snapper in an annoyed silence.

Snapper sighed, and moved to join Roman on the couch. "Well, I suppose they want to protect us." Roman didn't respond, thinking hard while staring into the flame of a candle on the table. He considered what Snapper said, and his mind returned to his conversation with Cole on the day he had learned to pick pockets. _You think that's possible, Roman? That cavalier of yours could get you killed. Kings die, Roman. Kings die all the time._ He figured Coleman meant well, but he couldn't help but smell condescension behind the compassion. Coleman didn't understand yet, what he could do, which was especially frustrating after his outwitting of the Noirs.

And he never would understand if Roman didn't make it clear. Another part of the conversation came back to him. _We take what we want._ "Hell with it," Roman said, standing up. Snapper looked at him with confusion as he walked over to the dresser and pulled open the drawer; there were five stolen scrolls inside. He picked one up, and looked at Snapper. "You remember Eton's number?"

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Slipping through a back alley to avoid the glow of the streetlights, the three boys approached the office building. Eton led the way, with Roman and Snapper trailing behind him. "Roman, I'm having some trouble reconciling this," said Snapper. "Seems a fool plan without Cole's go-ahead."  
"You're worrying too much. We don't need Cole to tell us what to do. We're Torchwicks, we can handle anything. We've bested the Noirs twice." It occurred to Roman that Snapper hadn't done much of the sort, _he_ had. He didn't see much point in reiterating that; it would likely just piss Snapper off.

They passed out of the more brightly-colored but run-down aesthetic of Little Mistral and out into Vale proper, tagging behind Eton as he looked at a corner building ahead. Sharply-designed, four stories, mostly white stone. And all dark. They stopped across the street, standing in the shadows. "What did I say?" Eton asked. "Completely empty."  
"You have the key, right?" Snapper asked.

It was worrying how many pockets Eton had to check before he produced the silver-and-white card. "Yep!" He made to run across the street, but Roman grabbed his sleeve as a thought occurred.  
"Just a mo. Has your cousin ever happened to mention what kind of security there is?"  
"Nah. Can't be much, they leave the safe open."  
Roman rolled his eyes. _"That's the worrying part, moron."_ He sighed. "Alright, we'll head in carefully and be ready to make like Faunus from soap if there's trouble."

"Why don't I keep lookout outside?" Snapper asked. "If you two get caught, I can run and find Coleman."  
"Good idea, but I'm hoping it doesn't come to that," said Roman.  
"Here," said Snapper. He drew a crowbar from beneath his blazer and handed it to Roman; one of a few items he had had the forethought to bring along. "You two ought to need this more than I do."

Roman took it and tucked it into the back of his belt. "Okay, Eton, let's go."  
As Snapper pulled out a scroll, likely to pass the time with some games while he waited, Roman and Eton jogged across the street to the door, which was mostly glass with an electronic lock.  
"I guess we could have just broken it," said Roman.  
"No, cousin said it's serious glass," said Eton. "Bulletproof."  
"Oh."

Eton swiped the card in a slit next to the handle. The door beeped, and he was able to open it, stepping inside as Roman followed. It was dark within; only slivers of light from the windows stopping the two boys from hitting their shins as they snaked through. Roman did his best to look and listen for anything that could cause them a problem. He pulled up the scarf that Coleman had given him to cover part of his face, in case of cameras.

"You know where we're going, right?" Even as he asked, Roman cringed internally. The lack of planning they had done before coming here was beginning to seem increasingly idiotic.  
"Yeah, over here," said Eton. "Up the stairs." He took the lead, heading up a flight. Roman followed. There was more light coming from above, though still dim.

It wasn't long before they found the source. In the hall at the top of the stairs, the light came from an open door leading into an office. In the office, a single lamp glowed upon a desk. On the wall behind the desk was what could only be the safe. Heavy, dark steel with bolts the size of golf balls holding it into the wall. Eton and Roman quickly moved into the office, Roman having the clarity of mind to close the door behind them.

He noticed a large chest in the corner with a padlock, but ignored it and followed Eton to the safe. True to Eton's word, it didn't appear to be locked, but another problem presented itself: the door of the safe was huge and heavy. Eton grabbed the handle and pulled, but could barely get it to move. "Here," said Roman, as he got a grip on it and helped. With the two of them straining, they were able to slowly swing the door open... only to be somewhat discouraged by what they saw within.

There was gold, alright. Five large blocks of it. Each block must have been the size of a typical briefcase, and weighed over three hundred pounds. Roman's heart fell as he looked at the precious metals. "The delivery crews... they must need several people to carry each one..." Close enough to touch, but completely out of his reach.

"Well... what if we get Snapper to help us?" Eton asked hopefully.  
"No. Even with the three of us carrying one of those pieces, we'd get out slow, and noticeable." Roman narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. He didn't want to leave empty-handed. There had to be a solution. He riddled through different means of moving the gold in his mind before giving up and deciding he needed something else. His eyes returned to the chest, and his hand ran along the crowbar under his jacket.

"Hell with the gold," he said, approaching the chest.  
"Huh?" Eton asked.  
"The thing that's worth the most stealin' is behind the lock." Roman knelt before the chest and drew the crowbar. "Come help me with this."

It took the two a minute working in tandem to break the padlock off the chest with the tool. Working with ravenous speed, Roman simply dropped the crowbar to the carpet and opened the chest. He was momentarily taken aback by the sight of the only thing inside: a long, black tube of plastic, like for carrying old-fashioned scrolls, ones made of paper, inside. Too big for one of those, though. "There's nothing good in here, either!" said Eton in a dispirited voice.  
"Shut up," said Roman, pulling out the cylindrical case. He popped open the end and pulled out the large, rolled-up paper inside.

The chest, the inside of the chest, the tube, the paper: none of them were dusty. To Roman's mind, that meant they were worked on regularly, which made them valuable in some way, to someone. He unrolled the paper, and discovered it to be a map of the City of Vale. "It's just a dumb map!" Eton whined.  
"Shut up!" Roman repeated, taking a close look at the map. Many points were marked on it; dozens, each with little notes drawn in nearby in pencil; some kind of code that Roman didn't understand.

Still he knew some of these places. He focused hard on one of the marked points, in Little Mistral. He thought hard, comparing where he knew the streets to be in his head to where they were on the map. The point's location became clear to him. "That's Frost's." he said quietly. "The Bakery. Near where we live. And there, that Cobbler, I know that place too..."  
 _"So what!?"_ Eton demanded.  
"And that one there, that's Cleaver's junk pile..." something was connecting in the back of Roman's mind, some link that all the locations had. They had something in common...

He looked back over at the open safe, and the blocks of gold. Gold. A chill ran up Roman's spine. "We've made a mistake. We shouldn't have come here." He quickly shut the map back in the chest with a thump, but then heard more thumps. Footsteps, coming this way. Eton heard them too, a panicked expression on his face.  
"Run!" Yelled Eton, sprinting for the door. Roman had no choice but to immediately follow. As he passed the desk, he bumped it, causing the lamp that was the sole source of light for the room to fall and shatter loudly, plunging them into darkness.

As Eton and Roman ran out to the hall, they saw it. A great, dark figure, looming out of the shadows, near-invisible without the light of the lamp. Terror shot through Roman. Fear of the unknown. The Shade moved towards them quickly as both boys bolted away from it down the hall, back towards the staircase. Roman was faster; Eton's arm was grabbed by the Shade. Eton screamed for help, but Roman was gripped by fear and kept running.

He saw the Shade picking Eton up out of the corner of his eye as he took the stairs three at a time and shot for the front door. It occurred to him in passing that he no longer had the crowbar; he assumed he had dropped it at some point. There were more heavy footfalls behind him, and the sounds of Eton's struggling getting louder; it was following, slowed down by Eton but still in pursuit.

Roman wasted no time throwing open the front doors and sprinting into the night. "Snapper! Go!" Roman hollered. On the other side, Snapper looked up from his scroll, startled.  
"What the hell are you raising the dead for!? Hush up!" He stopped talking, though, as his eyes fell on Roman's pursuer, who had stopped in the doorway. Now in a bit more light, it was clearly a large, muscular man, still holding Eton under one arm.

Roman slid to a stop by his brother and turned to look. The large figure looked at both of them; Roman's face still covered by the scarf, but Snapper's exposed and visible. The Torchwicks ran.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

It had to be near midnight. It certainly felt like it had been hours. Hell to that, it felt like years. Snapper got up to pace again. Roman had lost track of how many times he had done that. Every time, five minutes or so of circuits around the ramshackle living room and then back to the couch, and then again a few minutes later. Roman would have found it annoying, but he more than empathized with Snapper's anxiety.

"You're sure he saw my face?" Snapper asked for the tenth time.  
"I'm pretty sure he saw your face," said Roman. "He sure as hell didn't see mine."  
"Well he might as well have, if he can figure out who I am. And he can..."  
"...If he works for Poppa Gold," Roman finished.  
"God... DAMN IT!" Snapper yelled, kicking the edge of the couch in frustration. "Where are they!?"

Coleman's voice came from outside. "Assuming you mean us, Snap, we're out here, wondering why you're hollerin'." Roman felt a sudden chill. He had spent the evening rehearsing, in his head, how he would explain himself to Coleman, over and over again. But now that the moment was actually approaching, all his carefully prepared wording seemed like dust in a storm. The front door opened, and Coleman and Matches entered the homestead, both carrying armfuls of paper bags.

"Picked up some shopping on the way home," said Cole. "Give us a hand, will you?" Neither Roman nor Snapper moved. They looked at each other, as if each were pleading with the other for help.  
Coleman hesitated, furrowing his brow. "What's wrong?" Matches had been carrying his load towards the kitchen, but stopped and looked at his brothers. His inaction echoed Coleman's question.

It was a few seconds before Roman spoke. "We... made a mistake."  
Cole slowly put down his bags on the floor, not taking his eyes off Roman. "What sort of mistake would this be?"  
Snapper replied. "You remember Eton?"  
"Yes."  
"He asked us to come run a heist."  
"A _heist?_ The hell's coming out of your mouth? Heist."  
"It was a proper heist," said Roman. "He had a lead. Get in, swipe goods, get out."

"Since when do you two do heists without telling me?"  
A whisper of Roman's earlier anger bucked it's head inside him, but was overwhelmed by his fear, and anger at himself. "We didn't know what we were getting into. A guard showed up. Big fellow. Caught Eton and chased us. We got away, but he... saw Snapper's face."  
Coleman looked worried. "That could be a problem. If he goes to the cops... enough of them might know that-"  
"No," said Roman, interrupting him. "That's... that ain't the problem. The place..." he looked down, gritting his teeth. In his mind, he was dropping a match into a lake of oil. "The place belonged to Poppa Gold."

Coleman went pale, and looked over at Matches, who looked genuinely scared for the first time in Roman's memory. Roman opened his mouth to say something else, an apology maybe, but was cut short by Coleman smacking him across the head.  
"Ow!" Yelled Roman.  
"The hell's the matter with you, Ro!?" Coleman yelled. He sounded angry, and scared. "How could you be so damned stupid!?"  
He hit him again, then wheeled to the side and did the same to Snapper. "Ah, damn it!" Snapper yelled, covering his head.

"How could you two be so damned _stupid!?"_ Coleman screamed again.  
"We didn't know!" Roman yelled, tears welling in his eyes from the pain. And the fear. "We only found out while we were there, and when we did we hauled ass! Only that damned guard showed up!"  
"Damn it!" Cole yelled, before Matches stepped up and placed a hand on his shoulder.  
"Cole. This ain't helpin'."  
"Well it sure as hell ain't hurtin'! Of all the..." Cole cut himself off mid-yell, meeting Matches' eyes. He sighed, and sat down on the couch. "Of all the rotted luck. Only the Torchwick boys."

All four brothers were silent for a moment. Matches, Snapper and Roman watched Coleman as he stared at the floor, seemingly collecting his thoughts. Finally, he stood up, and approached Roman and Snapper. They flinched, but he put his arms around them gently. "It's alright," he said calmly. "I'm gonna fix this. As best I can, anyway." He let go of them and approached the drawer, opening it and pulling out one of the stolen scrolls.  
"What are you doing?" Roman asked timidly as Cole typed.

"I'm calling Contor. I'm gonna tell him everything. The only way we get out of this alive is if we cop to it and explain."  
"No!" Roman yelled, the fear rising up in him again. "Poppa Gold will kill us!"  
"Poppa Gold ain't a Grimm, Roman. He can be reasoned with. This was an honest misunderstanding, and he'll see that."  
"What if he doesn't?" Matches asked.  
"It's better odds than trying to do something stupid like running, or hiding. Trust me."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Roman, Snapper and Coleman stood on the street corner in their best clothes, which was barely a step up from what they normally wore. They would attend the meeting together, while Matches stayed behind to watch over the homestead. Coleman was clearly doing his best to appear composed for his brothers, but the sweat on his temples was hard to hide. It wasn't long before the limo slid to a stop in front of them.

The back door opened, and from the seat, Contor Trix smiled. "Get in, boys." Coleman wasted no time climbing in without a word, and Roman and Snapper followed his lead. The three brothers sat next to each other as the door closed and the car started moving. Contor sat across from them, watching with a silent smile from behind his copper-framed sunglasses. In passing, Roman wondered how much the glasses had cost him. Focusing on little things like that helped him quiet the anxiety that continued bubbling inside him.

"Wise of you three to come along," Contor said finally. "I may not have my weapon on me right now, but I'm still not the easiest person to get away from."  
"Now, listen, you two," said Cole quietly, addressing Roman and Snapper with ignoring Contor, "You leave the talking to me unless you're addressed directly. If you are, be polite and respectful."  
"Mark his words," said Contor, still smiling. "Your brother's a smart man. I thought."  
The statement did nothing to calm Roman's nerves.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Stepping out of the car, Roman looked up at the building that could very well be the last he would ever enter. It was titled as _Fumone, (_ an old word Roman didn't know the meaning of), in swooping, italic golden letters against a red sign. It was a restaurant, well-known not just for it's fine food, but for it's owner. Contor straightened his jacket and headed inside, through fine oak doors with large windows. Roman looked at Snapper, and noted that he looked just as nervous as Roman himself felt inside. Cole gently guided both of them in.

The restaurant was nearly empty, and well-decorated. Almost everything was deep blue; the ceiling and walls were painted as such, and the thick, comfortable-looking carpet was such a dark midnight it was nearly black. Most of the lighting was a soft, warm golden color. The tables were all clear, save for a large both near the back, where a handful of people were gathered. Sitruuna was there, standing, as was the large man, the Shade, that had chased Roman earlier that evening. In clear light, he wasn't nearly as frightening. Tall and handsome, with curly blonde hair and fair skin, his shirt was a soft shade of green. Contor had just taken his place beside the two, and a pair of men in suits who Roman assumed were bodyguards.

The man sitting in the booth, with his hands folded on the dark tablecloth, was the most important by far. And old man of at least sixty, slightly overweight and with shining silver hair. He wore a midnight-blue suit to match the restaurant's trappings, along with golden cufflinks. Most noticeable, however, were his eyes. One was a perfectly normal blue eye, but the other was badly scarred, with the eyeball itself replaced by a glowing yellow prosthetic, which seemed to be mechanical. It watched the Torchwicks like a camera as they approached the table.

Coleman reached the edge and stopped, clearing his throat slightly. Poppa Gold smiled at him, the mechanical eye zeroing in. "Now, let me guess," said Gold. His voice was sharp and clear. "You would be Coleman Torchwick, and these would be Snapper and Roman, your younger brothers?"  
"Yes, sir." Cole said. Roman could tell he was keeping his tone unnaturally even.  
"Please, sit," Poppa Gold said.  
The Torchwicks did as they were told, taking chairs on the other side of the table from Gold's booth. Roman kept trying to avoid making eye contact, but his gaze kept being drawn back to the glowing eye.

"You boys seem fearful," Poppa Gold observed. "Would you like something to eat? Drink?"  
"Thank you, sir, it's very kind, but we're fine," said Coleman.  
"Please, I insist." Poppa Gold waved a hand, and one of the bodyguards moved quickly through doors that Roman assumed led to the kitchen, before returning with several glasses of water and bowls of pudding.  
"Thank you," Coleman repeated, as the dessert was placed in front of him. Roman prodded his own with a spoon.  
Poppa Gold ate a spoonful from his bowl before continuing. "Now, obviously we have tonight's events to discuss."

He leaned back in his booth and considered the brothers carefully. "The youngest I see before me are trusted employees of my lieutenant, Sitruuna. Despite that, tonight they trespassed on property belonging to another of my lieutenants, Vernon." He gestured to the large man. "While on this property, they opened both a safe and a chest filled with items that did not belong to them. Clearly, they had the intention to take something, though I am told that they didn't, and that the entire incident was in fact a misunderstanding. I would very much enjoy having this misunderstanding cleared up for me. Mr. Torchwick. May I call you Coleman, young man?"

"Of course, sir."  
"Coleman. You regularly deal through Contor, is that correct?"  
"That's right, sir."  
Gold turned to look at Contor. "Contor, if you wouldn't mind giving me your opinion of the Torchwick boys?"  
Contor nodded. "This is my first time meeting young Snapper, and only my second Roman. But I have always found the eldest two to be good eggs. They've never done our business wrong, never stepped out of line. Coleman and I have a good rapport."

"So when they tell me that this was merely a miscommunication, something that could have happened to anyone, your inclination is to believe them?"  
"Yes, sir, though I'd much prefer to hear an explanation."  
"As would I." Poppa Gold looked at Roman and Snapper. "Youngest. One of you two give me your synopsis for what happened."  
Roman and Snapper looked at each other. An unspoken accord passed between them: Snapper was older. This was his job.  
"Well, sir..." Snapper began, "while we were out with the other couriers, one of them, Eton, asked us to help with a... job. The business we broke into. We-" Poppa Gold held up a hand, and Snapper fell silent.

Gold turned to Sitruuna. "Eton. This is the boy we have downstairs?"  
"That's right," she said.  
Roman and Snapper looked at each other again, both pale. It didn't sound like Eton was having a nice evening. The fate that await them if Poppa Gold didn't like their story was becoming clearer, and more imposing.  
"Please, young man, continue," said Gold.

"Well..." said Snapper, "we weren't told... Eton didn't tell us who the place belonged to. I don't know if he even knew... we were told to get the safe upstairs. I didn't go in, though... I don't know what happened inside."  
"I see," said Poppa Gold, looking at Roman. "You did, I assume?"  
Roman's mouth felt dry. He wanted to take a sip of his water, but making Poppa Gold wait for his answer seemed disrespectful. "Yes. Eton and I went in. We went upstairs, opened the safe, and the chest. That's when we figured out that the place belonged to you. He showed up..." Roman looked up at Vernon, "as we were running."

Vernon spoke. His voice was soft and pleasant. "I managed to grab the Eton boy, but-"  
Poppa Gold held up a hand again, silencing him. He was still looking at Roman, his eyes narrowing. "Be very clear with me, young man. How did you figure it out?"  
The map came back into Roman's mind. He hadn't really though about it much since he had left the heist. But now that he thought of it again... something bothered him...

Still, he was quick to answer Poppa Gold's question. "In the chest, I found a map marked with different businesses around Vale. After I looked at it for a minute, I figured out that it was all the places you-" he stopped mid-sentence, suddenly realizing that he was about to directly accuse the most dangerous person he knew to exists of a crime. Gold raised his eyebrows. He clearly expected an honest answer.  
"Yes, boy?"  
Roman spoke very quietly. "All the places you extort for protection money."

The tension in the room noticeably sharpened, but Poppa Gold was still smiling. "And how did you figure that out?"  
"I know most of those businesses. I know which ones pay you." He thought hard about the map again, and what was written on it. All the little notes and numbers. "Like _Frost's,_ the bakery." Roman's brow furrowed. The more he _really_ thought about the map, the more the small inconsistencies started to pile up. Mistakes? Surely Poppa Gold couldn't make such simple mistakes... but people working for him could.

"This clears a lot up," said Poppa Gold. "And as soon as you determined what the map meant, you made to leave, I assume?"  
"Yes, sir," said Roman. Gold leaned back, clearly mulling things over in his head. Roman was hopeful that he had said enough to convince him... but in case he hadn't, maybe it was a good idea to add more? To make himself not just innocent, but useful?  
"There were mistakes on the map," he blurted out before he could stop himself. "Whoever made the notes screwed up."

Cole looked at Roman in shock for a moment before speaking. "Roman! I'm sorry, sir, he's-"  
For the third time, Gold demanded silence by raising his hand. Coleman complied. "Oh? What mistakes?" Gold looked and sounded genuinely intrigued. Roman gritted his teeth. No turning back now; he was committed.  
"I noticed that you're pricing high in the industrial district. Based on the dates, it looks like you just started. I bet you were planning to capitalize on the new mines that were just opened in Forever Fall. But the police patrol more in that district right now. If you increase prices, more people will defect to the law."

Gold watched him for a moment, before looking up at Vernon, who looked mildly impressed. "Well?" Poppa Gold asked.  
Vernon shrugged. "You've got the right idea, kid. But the new tax cuts are going to hit the Vale PD's budget first. They're going to be withdrawing that presence soon, making themselves seem weak in the district. The price increase couldn't be better timed."  
Roman's heart fell. He had made an ass of himself. "Oh," he said.  
Gold continued to look at him appraisingly. If the glowing eye made Roman uncomfortable, it was nothing compared to the mystery of what was going on behind it.

"Vernon," said Poppa Gold. "Quiz him."  
"Huh?" Asked Vernon.  
"Quiz him. Test him. Ask him something about your business."  
Vernon looked puzzled. Roman looked at his brothers; Snapper and Coleman both looked confused as well.  
"Alright..." said Vernon, taking a moment to think. "...Alright. There's two shops out west, near the Patch ferry port, that we have deals with: a tailor and a machinist. Which one do we charge more, and why?"

Roman furrowed his brow, looked down at the table, and thought for a moment. Ordinarily, he would think that they would fall close to even, maybe slightly favoring the tailor. He considered carefully, thinking about the time of year, what he understood of the economy, the location... the location...  
"The machinist," he said finally. "Most important thing on Patch is Signal Academy. They would need to outsource supplies for forging students' weapons. They have more money to spare from Council contracts."  
Gold looked at Vernon, who nodded approvingly.

"Sitruuna," said Gold, "you're wasting this boy on delivery jobs." He looked at Roman. "But then, that's what you wanted me to say, isn't it, boy?"  
Roman felt his breath catch.  
"I saw through you, young man," Gold continued. He was still smiling. "A desperate attempt to make yourself seem valuable, to better your odds of mercy. I won't have you insulting my intelligence in my own house."  
"I... I..." Roman sputtered, "I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't mean... I'm-"  
"Hold on, son. It still worked." Poppa Gold laughed. Roman felt relieved. For having such a dangerous reputation, Gold had a pleasant, grandfatherly air that was surprisingly good at putting him at ease.

"You're a sharp one for your age, I'll admit. Naïve, reckless, and with a lot to learn... but sharp. That's a talent I wouldn't mind cultivating for the future. Vernon, what would you say to taking young Torchwick as a kind of understudy?"  
"I could do worse."  
Gold nodded. "And Sitruuna? You don't mind giving him up, I hope."  
Sitruuna nodded. "He can be easily replaced, and his brother can still work for me, at least for a while."  
Roman practically couldn't believe what he was hearing. The amount he had managed to turn his luck around in just a few hours almost didn't feel real. He looked at Coleman, but just found that his eldest brother still looked anxious.

"Well, boy?" Gold asked, addressing Roman. "How would you like to go and work for Vernon? Learn the art of the protection gig? I give the final choice to you."  
"Yes!" Roman said. "Of course! Thank you, sir!"  
"I appreciate the enthusiasm, young man," said Gold. "In that case, Vernon?"  
Vernon looked at Roman. "Report back to the place you broke into tomorrow morning, same time you'd usually start your delivery runs."  
"Of course!"

Roman looked at the faces of everyone in the room. Snapper was hard to read; jealous maybe? Coleman still looked worried, Sitruuna and Vernon looked bored, and Contor was... still smiling. Roman didn't have a clue how Contor had wanted this to go down; earlier, he seemed to relish the idea of this ending poorly for the Torchwicks, but now he seemed just as glad as Roman. And Poppa Gold had the same jovial smile he had worn almost the entire meeting.

"Well, I think this is very well resolved," Said Gold, making to slide out of his booth. As he did, Sitruuna's scroll buzzed, and she checked the text she had received. Poppa Gold ignored her, but a noticeable look of distress passed over her face as she passed the scroll to Vernon and Contor. "I want to thank you boys for coming," Gold continued, standing up. The Torchwicks took this as their cues to stand as well. Poppa Gold moved to Coleman and shook his hand.  
"It was our pleasure, sir," said Cole.  
"Yes, thank you," said Snapper as Gold shook his hand as well.

Gold finally came to Roman. "And as for you, son... welcome to the family." Still smiling, the old man leaned down, hugged Roman, and whispered in his ear.

 _"If you ever try to steal so much as a cent from me again, I will wipe the name 'Torchwick' from the face of Remnant, and I will do it in descending order of age."_

Once again, a sickening chill ran up Roman's spine. It was even worse when he registered the full meaning of the threat: _in descending order of age._ The intention was clear: he would only be killed after he had seen Coleman, Matches and Snapper die. In recent months, Roman Torchwick had won, over and over again. On the surface, this seemed like another victory, another lucky break... but deep down, Roman couldn't help but feel like he had finally gambled too much.

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Over an hour later, Roman and Coleman still sat, awake, in the living room of the Torchwick homestead. Matches and Snapper could both be heard snoring in their bunks. Cole sat slumped on the couch, a glass that had earlier been full of whiskey hanging limply in his hand. Roman was simply cross-legged on the floor, poking at the dust with his finger.

"You don't need to say it," said Roman. Cole looked at him. "I know I'm on thin ice. I need to be more careful from now on."  
"I'm honestly not sure if you mean that," said Cole. "I think you think you do. He whispered something to you, right? What was it?"  
Roman just shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Never going to happen."  
Coleman sat up, and leaned forward. "Roman. I am never going to let anything happen to us, period. But I need you to _trust me_ from now on. _Please."_  
"Okay."

oOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo

Poppa Gold sat in his booth, staring hard at the tablecloth, which was now covered in fine pieces of broken glass. Shards of china from plates he had thrown were scattered around the carpet. Contor, Sitruuna and Vernon all stood in silence across the table. All three stared into the wall, too frightened to speak, or even move, before he said anything.

He looked up at them. His voice was eerily calm. "This is the third of my lieutenants to be killed in as many months. And we still know nothing. I know I don't need to tell you three how unacceptable that is. Someone has declared war on me, and you will find out who. Vale is my kingdom. No one is going to take it from me."


End file.
